


The Inherent Eroticism of Peccadillo

by Prociions



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Animal Death, Fingies in the mouth, Is it sexual?? is it romantic?? both?? idk man u choose, M/M, Masturbation, Restraints, Slow Burn, Unresolved Tension, for context: brief description of animal death in the context of euthenasia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27888205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prociions/pseuds/Prociions
Summary: Peccadillo: (Noun) A small, relatively unimportant offense or sin.Hermes (and a select few of his siblings) have no compunctions about taking advantage of the opportunistic and unregulated environment of the American frontier territories. As the Olympian clan's family drama comes perilously close to having actual consequences, Hermes finds himself captured by the infamous bounty hunter Charon.Being lugged around cross-country in handcuffs has no long-term Pavlovian effects; we promise.Western AU inspired by Umichill's character designs. Updates every friday.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 177
Kudos: 360





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> [ Umi's western AU character designs grabbed me by the throat and have not let go since.](https://twitter.com/Umichill/status/1331961924318359560)
> 
> This fic exists solely bc of their great art. Go look at it. 
> 
> A few disclaimers:
> 
> \- There is no fully period accurate dialogue. I'm not living like that and neither is Dionysus' 90's surfer dude verbal tics.  
> \- late 1800s Americans were DISGUSTINGLY European. I'm choosing to ignore this, please pretend this is an alternate universe where people like, choose to shower when possible, and believed in basic hygiene.  
> \- There is no period accurate sexism, racism, colorism, etc. American history is full of SO MUCH awful shit, but sometimes u want to turn ur brain off and enjoy cowboys being gay. I do not see . jpeg.

In the eyes of the victim, a theft is indistinguishable from a con.  
It does not matter to a man how a thing was taken; when he is preoccupied with the fact that it is gone.

Yet in that how lay the vast difference between the two. Thievery could be a game of low skill, unsubtle and thuggish. But a successful con could never be anything other than a performance; and Hermes was a _fantastic_ performer.

  
There was a thrill to the balancing act between charm and mystery, the stacking of truths, lies and flattery with enough speed to always be one step ahead. He liked to think he had a natural affinity for the art of it, a talent which few of his siblings (save Aphrodite) shared.

This more than any other reason was why Hermes tended to work alone; running smaller scams, acting as a courier or assisting with Aphrodite’s more involved schemes. Except of course, for those odd jobs whose directions came from on high.When Zeus fancied himself a chess master, with his progeny stuck as the unfortunate pawns.

His brilliant plan on this occasion being: having Ares _Gently Persuade_ local distilleries to provide them with some free samples. Which Dionysus would then water down only to re-sell at a premium.

Dionysus, who was usually engaged running their family’s perfectly legitimate brewery that required no stealing of any preexisting product whatsoever.

Dionysus, now the linchpin this unnecessary scheme was built upon; who Hermes had been tasked with assisting.

He had arrived early to their meeting point - one of the many bolt holes Zeus had scattered around the county - wanting the whole thing over and done with as soon as possible.

Only to get stuck waiting on Ares, late to make his appearance and thus provide them with a means of transport.  
  
The only silver lining in this terrible plot was that as far as partners went, Dionysus wasn’t entirely terrible; provided he wasn’t too deep in his cups.

The trouble - Hermes thought to himself, drumming his fingers impatiently against the window sill - the trouble lay in keeping him away from them in the first place.

“Excuse me! One moment, thank you.” Hermes said, dashing across the room to snatch a wine glass from Dionysus’ hand. The offending liquid was tossed out the open window, the empty cup returned to its owner’s hand before he had processed its absence.

“Terribly sorry sib,” Hermes chirped, not sounding very sorry at all, “I’m afraid I need most of your faculties present this evening.”

Hermes returned to his post at the window sill, the sharp _tak tak tak_ of his nails against wood increasing in tempo the longer the drive stood empty.

“Heeey, not cool man, I wasn’t finished with that.” Dionysus spoke with an audible pout; Hermes didn’t need to turn around to know that he would find him draped dramatically across the chaise lounge he had parked himself in, empty wine glass still in hand.

“You really need to relax a little more Hermes; Ares will get here when he gets here. Besides, how hard could this be? When our label makes a delivery me and dad usually kill a bottle; so it’s not like he would mind me sampling the wares.”

Hermes scoffed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes - an impatient and unprofessional habit that Zeus took particular offense to.“That’s not the point; though of course he wouldn’t, you’re the only reason this stuff is fit for human consumption.”

He gestured broadly to the many casks of Gently Appropriated whiskey towering behind Dionysus. “Questionable where Ares actually picks these up, or I should say, from whom he picks these up. Would it kill him to rob and-or slaughter people who make quality product for a change?”

“’S not so bad,” Dionysus said, sadly putting down his glass, while Hermes paced across the room at a clip that threatened to wear a track through the floorboards. “Most of the stuff sold around here is trash anyway. A couple of spices and people never know the difference.”

Hermes sighed - not testily, he was perfectly capable of patience thank you very much - hopping up to sit atop one of the barrels next to Dionysus. “I still don’t get why Pop decided we should start stealing the stuff; I’m sure you could brew up something better in half the time it takes Ares to acquire it.

“I’m not here to figure out why dad does what he does man. He got it in his head I should try working on the _other side_ of the family business. You know what he’s like when he gets an idea, not even ‘Thena could hold him back for this one.”

Hermes hummed without answering, drumming his heels against the side of the barrel.

Hopefully Ares wasn’t going to delay any longer, and would appear with the wagon they needed to make the delivery any minute now. That would be the responsible thing to do. _That_ wouldn’t involve a future that left him needing to corral and cajole an already tipsy Dionysus through a speedy sale. Rushing through the order before the saloon owner opened the casks and realized their contents had been watered down then re-colored with molasses.

Hermes’ thoughts ran dizzily from one scenario to another, a frenetic pace matched by the beat of his heels against the cask.

Ares would get here any minute now. Obviously. And if he didn’t…perhaps a small (possibly poisonous) snake would find its way into his things back home.

Coincidentally.

Dionysus swatted at his ankle, interrupting his musings. The banging on the barrel having reached a volume that seemed to merit intervention. “Come on Herm, stop jostling the whiskey. I know you’re worked up but you’ll see us through! You always do; ‘Thena tells me you and Aphrodite could talk anyone into anything.”

“While I certainly appreciate your unwavering faith, I think all that drink has finally scrambled your brain.” Hermes said with a laugh, strained as it was at the moment.

“ _Aphrodite_ could help you talk anyone into anything; I’m only here to help move this transaction along at top speed, sib. If this fellow ever notices he’s grossly overpaid for these five barrels of swill, well, we should at least be at a safe distance when that happens.”

Dionysus shrugged. “Eh, same thing.”

“Awful kind of you to say so; perhaps you can pass that compliment along and talk Pop into giving me a raise.”

“Ha! If I could I definitely would man.” Dionysus flapped his wrist as though he could physically wave away the conversation, reclining back into the chaise.

Ares still nowhere in sight, Hermes was forced to wait and watch as Dionysus stretched out into his usual hedonistic splay.

His brother had always gone through life with a contagious mien of easy calm; not even their high-strung family found themselves immune to his charms.

It was sometimes _almost_ enough to mellow Hermes out.

He tried a deep inhale and a measured exhale; the sort of controlled breathing Artemis was always going on about. No pacing, no tapping. Easy. Perfectly feasible.

Hermes wedged his hands under his thighs to try and keep still - _Easy._

Dionysus let out a full body sigh.  
“Could you relax? I can practically _feel_ you worrying, man.” He twisted around in his seat, squinting up at Hermes with an uncharacteristic level of focus.

“Heeey, did you eat? ‘Thena’s always telling me you get extra twitchy when you skip a meal. Do you need me to be a good host and get you something?”

 _Not easy. Downright impossible._ Hermes thought, resigning himself to another unsuccessful attempt at sitting quietly. Sliding off the barrel and starting to pace around the room once more.

“It would be nice!” He waved his arms emphatically, using the momentum to pinwheel around on a turn - fast enough that he could watch the subtle terror creeping over Dionysus’ face.

“I would love to relax one day! Wonder where I can fit it into my schedule? Let’s see; we have to deliver these casks today,” Hermes began to dramatically count the events on his fingers, relishing the chance to force yet another family member to sit through an inopportune rant.

“Then I’ll need to run across half the county to give Poseidon the money from that sale, dip south to help Aphrodite swindle her new beau. And after that I’ll need to take whatever she’s acquired to Athena so she can fence it! Then perhaps, just maybe, at that point, Pop won’t have something that needs doing ‘ _right this moment, young man_ _’,_ miles and miles away. And I will be allowed a blessed moment to sleep in a real bed for a change! Imagine that!”

“Heey, heey, slow down little man.” Dionysus appeared before him, having abandoned his chaise to lay a gentle hand on Hermes shoulder; effectively blocking his circuitous path from one wall to another. His brother’s usually smiling face was creased with concern, and that more than the hand trapped Hermes in place.

Hermes was silently led back to the chaise lounge and forced to sit as silence stretched on between them, heavy and awkward.

His brother hovered over him for a moment, thumb rubbing gentle circles into Hermes’ shoulder before moving to sit next to him.  
“I didn’t know Dad was working you that hard.”

“He’s not, it’s alright, I’m alright,” Hermes mumbled, wishing he hadn't been interrupted.  
There on the chaise, the soporific quality of Dionysus’ being had the unpleasant side effect of managing to make Hermes sit quietly for once. An entirely undesirable state.

The danger of sitting still, of letting his frenetic energy fizzle out, was that when forced to lay there quietly - despite the buzzing of his anxious thoughts - the protests from his body were only too happy to make themselves known.

The slight twinge in his left ankle, caught on a stirrup in a rather impromptu dismount last Thursday, was present and accounted for.  
He _was_ hungry - breakfast had been hours ago, before the sun was up - with it being well past noon currently, creeping towards late evening.

Worst of all, when forced to slow down by some meddling sibling, sometimes Hermes would realize he truly was tired  
Like now.  
Especially since the bit about not seeing a bed for the last couple of days had been true.

Hermes took a deep, steadying breath, well practiced at taking the sum of all uncomfortable feelings and sensations, and packing them into a tight little box, to be taken out and solved later. When he was much less busy.

“I’ll be fine. I can admit it’s been a rough week, but we all run into those every once in a while, correct?” He shot Dionysus his best smile.

Dionysus ruffled his hair, an annoying penchant shared by all his taller sisters and brothers, clearly not buying the act in the least. But being nice enough to pretend that he did.

“If you say so Hermes, then sure. At least let me fix you something while we wait. If ‘Thena finds out I had you here and let you skip a meal, I’d never hear the end of it.”

Dionysus shuffled him downstairs and Hermes found himself forced into a different chair, sat at the table near the house’s vast kitchenette slash brewery slash impromptu dumpster. A pair of stale biscuits were shoved into his hands while Dionysus stoked the stove’s coals and set a pot of water to boil.

“How long has Dad kept you traveling?” Dionysus asked while rummaging through the cabinets; engaged in the herculean effort of trying to find real, nutritionally viable food. Or whatever could pass as such in-between the many piles of trash, papers and random objects littering most available surfaces.

Hermes picked idly at the biscuits, trapped between the hunger and nausea that happened when he had perhaps skipped one too many meals. “Only these last few weeks. Should die down soon enough.”

“Well good news is I can pretty much guarantee it will.” Dionysus grinned at him from across the counter, triumphantly rattling a coffee tin unearthed from some dark corner of the room.

 _Coffee_.  
Hermes, feeling more alert than he had in hours, carefully followed the trajectory of the tin the way a man dying of thirst might look at an oasis. Sweet, blessed Coffee. Which he totally wouldn’t even kill a man for right now. Not even a little bit.

Hermes’ focus had narrowed down into near tunnel vision for the pot being fixed by Dionysus; almost enough to make him miss that last comment. Almost.

“Hang on, what do you mean about it dying down? Has Pop found something else he needs to plan for, or are we moving again?” Hermes bounced his leg idly, nausea receding, well on his way to inhaling the second biscuit.

Zeus had always used a few select family members to run a wide variety of “jobs”; from the dubiously legal to the clearly-not-so. In counterpoint, Athena’s oversight had crafted a rather expansive empire of perfectly legitimate businesses, expertly positioned to launder any ill gotten gains into more profit.

Those employed by Athena’s branch of the family business had never been officially connected to their more _off-color_ counterparts. The Olympian estate in Sacramento, as headed by her, was a place of no ill repute (at this time) with no need to skirt lawmen.

Those lucky few Hermes was a part of were enrolled in a much more _transient_ career track, one that required them pack up and move from town to town in a constant shuffle. Usually when their father’s pathological need to scheme - or sleep around, to disastrous effect - inevitably caught the eye of the authorities.

“Something like that; I meant to tell you when you first got here. But I got distracted when we started talking, you know?”

“Truly? Wonderful - well, I desperately hope this wasn’t something important Dionysus,” Hermes said. Doing his best to ignore the nausea’s triumphant return.“Not that it would be the first time, mind.” He added with faux cheer, unable to keep a hold of both his annoyance and the urge to take a jab at Dionysus’ stellar sense of timing. Sometimes, it was best to pick your battles. The battle to _not_ sass back his family was one which had rarely seen victory.

“Hey don’t blame it all on me, man,” Dionysus pouted; an expression that should not have worked as effectively for a person that tall or that old.“You had a lot to say when you first got here, so I forgot. But don’t worry Herm, I knew I’d remember eventually.”

 _Controlled breathing._  
Hermes turned his attention back to the much awaited pot of coffee, the only source of solace left for him in this world. “Well, go on then. What was it that you needed to say?”

Dionysus took his sweet time, both for answering and for walking over with the coffee. The moment it was in range, Hermes snatched his cup before it could be put down. It scalded his tongue and burnt the roof of his mouth. Sometimes, the things we loved truly hurt us most.

This did not stop him from pouring himself a second cup.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down Hermes! Unless you wanna prove ‘Thena right and choke on it one day.” Dionysus scolded, in an act of unparalleled hypocrisy for a man who drank wine as if it were water.

“Anyway, about dad; as soon as we finish for today, he wants you and Ares to head back to the estate; so you can forget about your other plans. Sounds like moving isn't gonna cut it this time, you’re set to lay low for a while. Until he figures out what to do about that bounty hunter.”

“Charon?” Hermes said incredulously.  
“I thought Ares had taken care of him last time they met.”

“Not quite, it seems that our not-so little friend is back. And it’s not just Ares he’s after this time.” Dionysus produced a sheaf of papers from one of the piles of debris around the room, and slid them across the table. Several wanted posters for their family members waited in an orderly stack.

The details section contained the usual fare; their potential ages, descriptions and last known locations. The one notable difference from previous wanted posters being that these postings included an artist’s depiction.

Precious few photographs existed of their side of the family; even Zeus’ ego could concede that having any images of them in circulation would have been a uniquely terrible idea. Yet eerily accurate renditions of him and some of his more notorious siblings stared at him from beyond the page.

A little shiver of something crawled up his spine at the all too accurate details. There was Aphrodite’s porcelain-doll face, stunning and free of any imperfections. The streak of white paint that dominated Ares’ profile, the sunburst scar cross Artemis’ left eye, the slight scowl they shared on the page and in real life.

At the end of the stack, his own bust smiled broadly at the viewer; the artist had even captured the many earrings that Hermes had acquired over the years. A staggered waterfall of gold, whose attachments curved down alongside his jaw.

Hermes drained the last of his second coffee feeling, if only for a moment, at a loss for words.

Dionysus took the papers back with a slight grimace.“There’s no postings about anyone who’s usually with me and ‘Thena. But she thinks its only a matter of time before they connect the dots. It seems Uncle Hades decided to have his _et tu_ moment. He’s been seen working with Nyx’s company, it’s likely that’s where they got the information.”

Hermes bounced his leg with enough force to shake the table, wishing there had been enough coffee left for a third cup. “I’m not sure this family can take the added drama of our Black-Sheep turncoat uncle bringing us to justice. Between Pop and Athenas’ spats I would have thought we were full up on the stuff.”

Dionysus shrugged, tossing the papers back into another nondescript pile of trash. “All I can tell you is that we’ve been instructed to head back as soon as we’re done with this bit. And to run speedily in the other direction if Charon turns up. Shouldn’t be too hard, from what ‘Thena’s told me he’s the tallest person you’ll meet, not to mention ugly as sin.”

“So, he’s hideous?” Hermes choked on a laugh. “That’s the one detail she’s provided? Who passed on that little tid-bit, Aphrodite?”

“Aw come on ‘Herm, ‘Thena wouldn’t mention it just to be a gossip. I’ve been told the man’s got impressive scars,” Dionysus’ perfectly manicured hand swept across his face in a diagonal motion; a pantomime of the damage that marred the bounty hunter’s visage.

“That kinda look’s gotten him some impressive rumors.”He lowered his voice conspiratorially, a wry smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Including some fairly silly nicknames, if you’ll believe it. Folk down in Sacramento call him the _‘Ferryman’,_ given that he likes to take his bounties down for delivery by the river.”

“Well, technically you’re not far off.” Hermes mused.

He had only seen Charon once. The man had plagued Ares for the last several months, at one point cornering him in Redding; where Hermes swept in to provide a Ares a quick get-away. Even at a distance, Charon had cut an unmistakable silhouette; towering over most people, the infamous scars the only thing visible under the brim of his large black hat.

“So we can thank our fine friend Charon for your upcoming break. Everyone’s supposed to sit around at home until Dad and ‘Thena figure out what they want to do about the Hades situation.”

Hermes wasn’t sure if he had wanted this kind of break, but did not have very long to consider his thoughts on the matter.

There was a rustle somewhere behind them, the distant crunch of displaced gravel the only warning before the door was shoved open, slamming roughly against the wall, rattling on its hinges.

Ares had finally made his appearance.

“Are you ready my kin?” His smooth and mellow voice broke the silence. A tone that booked no argument and struck fear into the hearts of his opponents. A simple enough question, and yet, perfectly crafted to elicit the Cain instinct dwelling in the depths of Hermes’ soul.

“Brother!” Hermes smiled through gritted teeth, annoyance rushing back the moment Ares had arrived; reminding him of why they’d had time for a coffee break in the first place. “How incredibly kind of you to join us. If only a little late by several minutes - almost twenty - but who’s keeping track?”

He bounced out of his chair, quickly coming behind Ares and beginning to push and shove him towards the upstairs.

“As you can see, there are several barrels awaiting transport. Dionysus and myself would love the assistance of your many manly muscles in getting them loaded into the wagon before you head back to the estate. Come on, please move, no time to waste!”

Ares, in an odd display of good sense, let himself be led without complaints.  
 _Back on track at last_ , Hermes thought to himself, bounty hunter issues momentarily forgotten.  
Blissfully unaware of just how much the previous statement had tempted fate.

—————————————

Kerry was a little spit of a town that had barely been worth mentioning before the discovery of the nearby gold mine. The subsequent boom following its opening had seen to the expansion of the saloon, the general store and even the creation of a small hotel. Unfortunately, while the size of the place had increased, the same could not be said for the overall quality of the location.

Despite the significant delay caused by Ares, in the end their tardiness was barely noticed by the proprietor of the not-so-fine establishment they had come here to swindle. The man had turned out to be a devout follower of Dionysus’ own philosophy, and had barely been sober enough to stand upright by the time they arrived.

He had happily taken Dionysus’ explanations for any discrepancies in the look and feel of their product; and Hermes had even more happily palmed the man’s gaudy pocket watch as they shook hands on their way out of his office.

Their business satisfactorily concluded (with a sucker who didn’t realize he’d been duped no less) no force on earth remained powerful enough to keep Dionysus away from the many dubious liquors offered by their host.

Hermes found himself coerced into whiling away the remainder of their day in the dingy little pub. The lateness of the hour and the impressively immovable object that was a drunk Dionysus making it more convenient to rent a room for the night, and commit to an early start the next morning.

“Nothing like some pleasant fools to brighten the evening, I’ll tell you what Hermes.” He had said with a smile, having quickly found a suitable corner of the room to begin hosting court in.  
 _Nothing like a pleasant fool indeed._

All that occasionally made Dionysus a terrible partner shaped him into the perfect distraction.

While the rest of Zeus’ children weren't exactly homely, Dionysus’ and Aphrodite’s good looks were accented by a magnetic quality that drew in men and women alike. Hopelessly besotted moths to a callous flame.

Moreover, while the same could not be said for his critical thinking skills, Dionysus’ charm only grew the more wine flowed. The small crowd gathered around him was nearly insensate by the end of the evening, sloppy with drink and slumped over the tables. The few that remained upright loosing spectacularly at poker to Hermes, who had barely needed to muck the cards to amass a sizable pile of winnings.

“Think you’ve had enough fun by now sib?” Hermes asked sotto-voice, while dazzling the poor idiots in front of him with a riffle shuffle (none of them noticing the new stack, which guaranteed him a full house). “I believe I’ll quit while I’m ahead…after this round.”

“You sure do love to spoil my fun Herm, but I suppose I can cut my evening short this time.” Dionysus drawled, the girl on his arm tittering at a non-existent joke.

“I’ll just take this lovely lady up on her tour of the facilities while you wrap up your game.” The girl dragged him up and forward, both of them stumbling to some dark corner in the back of the building. Typical.

Hermes couldn’t help but roll his eyes; trust his brother to monopolize a saloon girl’s time and receive even more attention for his efforts.

“Well gentlemen, seems like it’s just us now.” Turning back to the table with a smile, he quickly dealt the cards, ready to sweep the pot and head onto Athena’s estate as early as possible the next morning.

 _Easy. Too easy_. He thought to himself, watching two men fold, leaving him and one poor soul who was most certainly about to lose the rest of his chips.

Then, as if the universe sat poised and ready to punish him for the irony of that thought alone, the door to the saloon swept open. The conversation did not pause, nor did the packed crowd part like water in a melodramatic scene. But Hermes, rather jumpy at the best of times, turned to look at the newcomer regardless, and froze.

The man was tall; ridiculously so, towering more than a foot over most of the patron’s heads.  
He strode purposefully across the room, clearly searching for something. His sharp gaze was half hidden by a large black hat, whose sizable brim could not manage to obscure a set of gnarled scars stretching across his mouth - pulling down one corner into a permanent grimace.

 _Charon_.

Hermes, seized with the sense of panicked urgency experienced by small prey animals, felt that this was a situation which required a quick and clear exit as soon as humanly possible.

He whipped around sharply, placing his back to the entrance, hoping he had noticed Charon without being noticed in turn.

“I’m afraid it’s been a bit too long since I left my brother unsupervised. Might you do me a favor and hold onto these for me sir?” He asked, not bothering to wait for an answer as he shoved the cards into a nearby man’s hand and slid underneath the table.

Being the shortest of his siblings had come with certain advantages he had never been too shy to exploit. Was it slightly humiliating that he was able to crawl mostly unnoticed between the legs of all the people milling about the room? Perhaps.

 _But, desperate times call for desperate measures._  
Hermes grimaced as he shimmied over a particularly sticky patch of floor, narrowly avoiding getting stepped on.

Perhaps, in retrospect, a little too desperate; but not every decision was a winner.

Having safely made it to the end of the room, he quickly headed towards the dark hallway Dionysus had vanished into. Breaking into a flat run the moment he was out of sight from the main entrance, trusting the sounds of drunken revelry to mask those of his escape.

The hallway led out into several small alcoves and storage rooms, in the last of which he found Dionysus. Engaged in _something_ with the saloon girl, both of them glued together and not bothering to jump apart despite the interruption.

“Gotta go! Dionysus we need to be on our way right now, immediately!" He chirped, bodily inserting himself between them to force the couple apart. The saloon girl tumbling onto the floor in a voluminous heap of petticoats.

“Hermes, what-“ Dionysus shoved him away, likely working himself up to a rare show of genuine anger, which Hermes had no time to witness.

“Excellent exit strategy sib, your keen instincts for debauchery save the day once again. Now if you’ll just come along, we can avoid the incredibly large and imposing man who just arrived. Charon! You remember Charon? You know, the fellow contractually sworn to take me in dead or alive, who Athena asked you to avoid at all costs!” Hermes rambled, punching through the nearby greased-paper window and dropping onto the dusty earth below.

To his credit, Dionysus only took a brief moment to understand their situation and followed soon after; ditching the indignant saloon girl calling after him without a second thought. They scrambled out the back, running full tilt towards the first escape vehicle they could lay eyes on.

A wagon whose owner found themselves unceremoniously shoved into the dirt before they could protest their uninvited passengers.

They sprung out of Kerry like bats from hell in the cover of night; the rickety coach protesting as they careened recklessly into the south road, towards Sacramento. Waiting in tense silence to see if anyone had followed; squinting anxiously as the few pinpricks light that marked Kerry finally faded into the distance. Swallowed up by the trees that encroached upon the path as they headed deeper into the wilderness.

“Well, that went excellently,” Dionysus complained breathlessly, still sounding incredibly winded from their brief moments of mild exertion. “Assuming he didn’t notice the ruckus we caused. If we’re lucky he might be ugly _and_ deaf.”

Hermes scowled, not ready to risk slowing down just yet. “He would have found us anyway. I’d much rather be on the open road, with a halfway decent chance of getting away.” Dionysus twisted in his seat to keep an eye on the road behind them. “Are you sure it was him? I thought Ares was the only one who’d ever gotten close enough to see his face.”

“Well I didn’t stop to ask for confirmation, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Hermes said crossly. “But I thought it might have been prudent not to stick around and test our luck with the man conveniently fitting every single description we have of him!”

Dionysus sighed loudly, recovering his usual, mellow attitude now that the potential danger had passed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now; but I have to hand it to you -” He started, before abruptly breaking off into silence. Both of them tensing up at the faint, yet unmistakable sound of a nearby rider.

The moon was bright and full that night, peeking through the canopy of branches in an effort to break up any lingering darkness. The rider, steadily approaching, was illuminated only in brief flashes before being cast back into shadow. Hermes cursed under his breath, unable to steer and safely look back at who was gaining on them.

Dionysus, clutched as his arm tightly. “Hermes,” He started, sounding incredibly faint before being interrupted for the second time that night; by the sharp, unmistakable crack of a warning shot.

At that point in time, several things began happening all at once.

The horses, spooked by the sudden loud noise, bolted forward, threatening to drag the wagon off the road and into the forest.

Dionysus - who had never experienced anything but the comforts of Athena’s perfectly legitimate business - let out a strangled scream. Ducking down near the footrest to try and hide behind the meager cover offered by their ride.

The bounty hunter, nearly overtaking their wagon, emerged from the shadows like a scene from a nightmare; perched atop a pale horse even larger than he, pistol clutched in his hand, a cloudy trail streaming behind him.

“Is he smoking?” Dionysus screeched incredulously, gripping Hermes tight enough to bruise. “In the middle of all this!”

Hermes didn’t bother answering, trying fruitlessly to swing them back onto the road and stop Charon from cutting off their path. The wagon, wobbling unsteadily underneath them, found itself dragged halfway off the path, steadily boxed in towards an inevitable crash.

In a moment of adrenaline fueled clarity, Hermes came to the following conclusions:

A.) Their current trajectory ended with them captured; or crashing into a tree, only to then be captured.

B.) While it was very slim, there was a chance that the bounty hunter had identified Hermes but not Dionysus. And, should his brother avoid Charon, nothing linking the two sides of their family could be said to exist.

C.) Charon, determined and opportunistic, would likely choose to go after the easier quarry if they split up.

D.) While the chances of outrunning a horse were even more slim. He would only need to outrun it for a little bit, long enough to lead Charon on a wild goose chase where his horse could not follow.

The sum of these points made it clear that only one option remained that had any hope of ensuring their escape.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” Hermes shouted, handing the reins to Dionysus before leaping off the wagon; in what would likely go down as The Most Desperate Measure in history.

He hit the ground running, fleeing in the opposite direction from Dionysus; willing Charon to take the bait. Hermes chanced a look back and saw, with a rush of triumph, that Charon had. His mount skidded to a halt, pulling a fast turn to chase after the easier prey. The triumph was quickly overtaken by overpowering dread; as both horse and bounty hunter headed his way at breakneck speeds.

Hermes was quick, but Charon’s horse was looming closer and closer, the clear winner in a flat out race. Which was why it was imperative to wait until the very last second for his final trick to stand a chance. When Charon was nearly upon him Hermes dropped into a stop so sudden it sent him skidding forward, flat on his back; the bounty hunter’s hand swiping at thin air, too high up to reach him from his mount.

 _Perfect_.

Now came the truly difficult part. Finding somewhere Charon’s horse could not follow, before he had time to regroup and reach him again. He scrambled up, heading deeper into the woods; a hail of bullets whizzing past him.

Clearly, the bounty hunter had finally lost his patience.

Hermes, seeing nothing but low brush on the horizon, began to lose hope of finding a suitable obstacle.

Away from the path, their visibility had dropped, the denser canopy blocking out most of the moonlight. He stumbled forward blindly in the darkness, branches pulling and snagging on the fabric of his clothes. While somewhere, not nearly far enough behind him, Charon and his mount tore through the underbrush at a steady speed.

Seized by one last desperate instinct Hermes pushed forward in a final burst of speed, hopefully far enough ahead that he had slipped from the bounty hunter’s field of vision, if not his hearing range.

He scrambled up the nearest tree, trying his best to hold perfectly still.

Somewhere underneath him, Charon continued forward before he too came to a halt. Likely noticing the glaring absence of any outlaws at ground level.

Hermes, perched on the first branch sufficiently high enough to hide him, but wide enough to support his weight; clung to the trunk. Willing his breathing to regulate, not wanting to risk making the slightest noise. Below, he could hear Charon’s horse begin to circle around the area. A dull, repetitive track that would continue for the rest of the night.

————————————————

Morning had arrived, and Hermes was still in the tree. Battling exhaustion, he slipped half-in and half-out of consciousness in alternating turns. Until a niggling realization shook him awake.

It was quiet.

It had been quiet for a while now, and Charon was nowhere in sight.

Hermes waited anxiously for a few moments longer.

Still quiet.

He slipped down the trunk and landed softly on the forest floor, tensed and ready to spring. The leaves in the canopy rustled softly in the wind, no other person in sight.

Too tired to feel anything but weary relief, Hermes began the trek back to the road. Planning to walk back to Kerry and head back to Sacramento from there.

He stumbled forward, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Wondering if it might have been better to stop and sleep right then and there before trying to go a step further, potential wild animals be damned.

Seconds away from choosing to lie down and pass out in the middle of nowhere, Hermes jolted back into full alertness. Having heard a small, odd sound somewhere behind him.

He whipped around, convinced he would see Charon in the distance; and so, missing the Charon quite close to him. Who seemingly manifested out of nowhere to catch his wrist in a vice like grip.

The instinctive cornered-animal fear fought desperately with his exhaustion, as he thrashed in Charon's grip. Bouncing forward to smash his forehead against the man’s nose with a vindictive, yet satisfying crack; taking advantage of the split second opportunity to tear his wrist away after the blow, with no plan but to run _far_ and to run _fast_.

Hermes sprang up and away, convinced for one beautiful, delirious moment that he might make it. Before several pounds of heavy, wooden rifle stock connected with his temple, knocking him unconscious.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [*ringing cowbell** come get ya'lls cowboy juice](https://twitter.com/Umichill/status/1337382924191141888?s=20)
> 
> Umi made more great art for this linked above so go look at it. You wanna look at the art. you wanna look at it so bad.
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS - 
> 
> Emetophobia - brief description in line/paragraph 4
> 
> Mild but frequent mentions of someone being restrained against their will.
> 
> And because i haven't stopped laughing about the phrase since i saw it in another fics tags: fingies in mouth, just a little bit ;)

Hermes is awake before he’s conscious. A fine, but necessary distinction. 

There is movement before there is context as he comes to; dizzy, with a roaring pain above his temple. Experiences that are not much improved by the current situation, slung over a horse like a sack of grain, pressed uncomfortably up against the saddle horn. 

_Charon._

He grabs onto that thought like a lifeline, trying to untangle his memory of recent events. Struggling to focus through a groggy haze, feeling worse with every passing second. The position doesn’t help at all, the horse’s sway bumping him up and down, edge of the saddle digging into his stomach. 

A particularly bumpy patch of road pushes him past his limits; Hermes - unable to keep it together any longer - hurls bile and half digested chunks of bread all over the horse’s flank and Charon’s boot. 

The ride jerks to a stop - a sensation only slightly worse than puking - and all Hermes can focus on is trying not to repeat the experience. When the bounty hunter dismounts, he slides back into the middle of the saddle, no longer wedged against the front. A welcome change, yet one his ribs don’t quite appreciate as much as the rest of him. 

He tries desperately to regain his bearings as Charon silently walks them off the path, away from the road. They’re led further and further into the trees as Hermes starts to regain lucidity, if not strength. The few bits of rational thought left within him expecting the bounty hunter to clean up his mount and himself, then keep moving.

When they at last stop in a nearby clearing, he’s hauled off the saddle and set on the ground.This is great, as he’s no longer face down on a horse; but not that much of an upgrade, as he collapses faster than a house of cards, unable to stand. 

He’s left propped up against a nearby tree while his captor attends to the mess, trusting that his quarry is too out of it to make a successful escape attempt. A pretty fair assumption. Left to his own devices for a few, precious moments - as Charon goes about wiping his mount free of all the terrible liquids now coating them both, courtesy of Hermes - he takes stock of the situation. 

His head throbs hotly where he was struck, accompanied by a magnificent headache. Hands are bound behind his back, heavy metal cuffs that sit snugly against his wrists with little give. Probably easy enough to slip out of, depending on their make. He makes a mental note to check the type; the moment he no longer feels like the slightest movement will bring about round two of emptying his stomach. 

As for the rest of him, it feels even worse than before, now that he’s fully regained consciousness. 

Not so great odds for any escape attempt, much less a successful one. Better to stay put now and wait for another opportunity. One where he doesn’t feel completely delirious, running on no food and no sleep; the sour aftertaste of bile lingering in his mouth.

The brief rest, while welcome, barely helps. When the bounty hunter finishes, Hermes feels as terrible as when he began, dizzy and feverish in the afternoon heat. He can only hope that if he’s put face-down on the horse again, it’ll be terrible enough to make him pass out. At least until the headache was over. 

He slumps against the tree, dead set on ignoring his captor, pointedly looking away even as Charon draws near. If the bounty hunter wants him on the damn horse like a trussed up game bird, he’ll have to place him there himself. 

He expects to be lifted, or directed some other way; he does not expect the light tap on his cheek, or for Charon to be quite so near when he turns to face him. 

Up close, the scars that tend to dominate his profile are but one part of the unsettling whole. The most striking of which turn out to be the bounty hunter’s eyes, usually hidden under the brim of his hat. 

Hermes had only seen one pair like them before. One of Artemis’ prized hounds, an albino beast with a pale coat and a pink, colorless gaze. Charon’s eyes are an equally odd shade of lilac, staring down at Hermes with the same intensity his sister’s hound devoted to prey.

“What?” Hermes rasps out, determined not to show how unsettled he feels by his over-sized jailer. 

Charon does not answer. His large, cool hands reach out to cup Hermes’ jaw, gently yet firmly - the way one might hold a skittish animal - tilting him this way and that to examine his head. 

“Admiring your handy-work are you? No need, I can vouch for it just fine; that bump is all you, one hundred percent Charon. Don’t worry too much about it however, I’m not dead yet. You can rest easy knowing you get to claim the ‘Alive’ version of the bounty after all.” He complains half-heartedly, unable to summon the energy to resist in earnest. Letting the bounty hunter prod gently at the tender spot near his temple, where he had struck Hermes earlier.

Whatever Charon finds must satisfy his curiosity. He draws away, looking for something in the saddle bags and Hermes nearly topples over - unaware of how that hand had been the one thing keeping him upright - swaying unsteadily, still feeling slightly sick and overheated.

When Charon returns, he holds him in place with a firm hand at his shoulder. Carefully and methodically looping a coil of rope snugly around Hermes’ neck. A complicated slip knot woven into a morbid necklace, which he then ties to the tree; tethering him like a dog on a leash. 

“Reconsidering the alive part of the bounty already? That must be a new record,” He wonders aloud as Charon repositions him as he sees fit, sliding behind him to unlock the cuffs.

Now (moderately) free, Hermes squints blearily up at Charon, extremely confused at this turn of events. A feeling that does not abate when the bounty hunter holds out a flask expectantly, waiting for him to take it. After a moment, testing for some kind of cruel joke, Hermes quickly snatches it, in no position to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He barely tastes the first sip of its contents - a bitter herbal tea - washing it down quickly, desperate to rid himself of the taste of his own vomit. Without stopping to breathe, he drains the rest of it at an equally hasty pace, overwhelmingly thirsty now that he’s been offered a drink.

Charon, whose watchful eye had not strayed for a moment, takes back the flask as soon as it’s empty, trading it for an apple. Hermes doesn’t waste time questioning this offer and tears into it ravenously. When he’s finished, Charon settles himself nearby; leaning against the adjacent tree, leisurely smoking a cigarette. 

“Taking a break, are we boss? Was this a planned stop, or are you making a chivalrous concession for my delicate constitution?” Hermes asks, not expecting an answer. Charon doesn't say anything aloud - or even turns to face him - but nods silently. Not bothering to give a specific answer, absorbed in his cigarette.

Hermes watches Charon for a while; exhaling impressive clouds of smog as he lounges, a human chimney. Hermes usually finds the stink of cigarette smoke to be abysmal, but luckily the bounty hunter sits downwind of him. Easily observed without having to suffocate in his self-created atmosphere. 

The longer nothing happens, the closer Hermes slips towards sleep, relaxing against his better instincts. No longer thirsty, and much less hungry, he stops trying to fight fatigue; taking advantage of his one chance to rest. Laying on the grass, lulled by the buzz of cicadas and chirping of birds around them, he struggles to keep his eyes open. Too tired to be bothered by the odd weight of the rope around his neck. 

The knot sits loosely at the hollow of his throat, definitely poised to try and strangle him should stray too far from the tree. It’s not that terrible, all things considered. If he doesn’t stop to think about it, it almost feels familiar. A replacement for Hermes’ scarf, left behind in Kerry as he and Dionysus made their escape.

He’s not sure of what made the bounty hunter take pity on him, let alone enough pity to let him rest without shackles, with only the improvised collar as security measure. Perhaps the not so insignificant threat of him being sick all over Charon’s pant leg had they kept going?

Regardless of the cause, he’s far past complaining. 

He nods off little by little, watching Charon’s horse graze placidly among the trees and Charon himself smoking not too far away. Thoughts rambling on internally, increasingly disjointed; remembering Aphrodite’s rather risqué tales of a similar experience. 

Perhaps he’d been a little too judgmental of her experience at the time. Desperate as he’d been to avoid hearing the exploits of her gentleman caller - and the allegedly delightful time he had provided her with only a few lengths of rope - as she insisted on expounding upon the delightfully meditative nature of the experience. 

Maybe she wasn’t _entirely_ depraved for finding a situation like this tolerable. Hermes thought to himself, moments before finally falling asleep. Rope resting snugly around his throat, the same kind of even pressure felt when Charon had cupped his face.

————————————————

After the surprisingly considerate break granted by Charon - earning him a small amount of goodwill in Hermes’ eyes, just a bit mind you, given that he was the reason he’d been out of commission in the first place - they set off once again.

Hermes was allowed to ride sitting this time, and not slung across like a sack of potatoes. A vast improvement, even if he was still wedged tightly between Charon and the saddle horn, handcuffs back in place. 

They rode in silence for a few hours - silence from Charon in any case - Hermes having found that the endless chatter which drove most of his siblings crazy seemed to have no effect on the bounty hunter. 

Disappointing, it was _much_ easier to escape from people who had already been driven to the brink of their patience. 

When the sun had begun to set, they had pulled off from the road again, ready to make camp for the night. Having found a suitable location, Hermes was once again lugged off the horse like an inanimate object and left with the saddlebags.

Charon had gotten a little too comfortable with his captive’s docile attitude. Leaving Hermes to his own devices once again; hands were still cuffed behind his back, but not secured to anything. Excellent.

Despite the reasons that had led to his extended nap, and the fact it had only lasted a couple of hours, Hermes felt the closest he’d been to well rested in a while. The headache had vanished, even if he was still a little sore. Hunger was present, but manageable.

As good a time as any to try and make a break for it. He quietly wriggled around the cuffs, bringing them to the front. Now able to use his hands more freely, he chanced a look at Charon, who was still occupied building a fire. So far so good. If they’d both been on foot, he would have easily been able to outrun the man with or without handcuffs. As it was, the horse definitely complicated things. 

Thankfully, Charon had kindly kept the horse nearby. Time to take the beast out of the equation, or at the very least, use it in his favor. Hermes crept over silently. Preparing himself to leap onto the saddle and ride away as fast as possible, knowing the sound of the stirrups shifting would inevitably alert his captor. 

When he was right next to the horse, he took the chance, bounding up onto the saddle in one fluid motion, kicking his heels to spurr the mount on. Planning to gallop into the distance before Charon had any time to react. 

The horse evidently had other plans. Staying utterly still despite Hermes’ urging. 

He kicked harder at the beast’s sides, growing impatient. The traitorous animal gave an annoyed huff loud enough to alert its owner, but still refused to budge. 

Before he could consider any sort of back-up plan, Charon dragged him roughly off the saddle like a scruffed kitten; hoisting him up by the back of his shirt. “Hello, dear traveling companion,” Hermes said brightly, knowing he was caught and giving this one up for a loss. “Just perusing your horse, very stable. Sturdy. Lovely animal.” 

Charon glared at him, displeasure radiating from his every pore; looking particularly offended at the new and improved position of his hands. 

“Oh right, _these._ Don’t you worry, I can put them right back.” Hermes grinned, delighting in the chance to try and unsettle Charon once more. He quickly pulled his hands around his back without removing the cuffs; the kind of contortions that had always made Ares wrinkle his nose in distaste. 

He gave a smug smile to meet Charon’s glare. These things obviously weren’t equipped to hold him for long, unless he happened to be half dead with exhaustion. Perhaps advertising that talent wasn’t the smartest of moves, but he considered it well worth the chance to plant a couple of seeds of restless paranoia in the man's mind.

Charon, looking more annoyed than unsettled, made sure to place Hermes directly in front of his line of sight as he began preparing some food. 

Even if he hadn’t, Hermes knew better than to try and escape again tonight. 

It seemed the horse was a wash. Any future plans would have to account for the fact that the horrible thing would not listen to anyone but it’s grim and silent owner. Annoying, but he could work around it. He resigned himself to another day at the bounty hunter’s tender mercies. Comforting himself with the fact that if he had to put up with Charon, that also meant Charon had to put up with him. 

“So, how goes our dinner date?” Hermes asked, fully intending to annoy his silent companion. Well aware that the man would never respond; but perfectly willing to spend time needling him as if he believed he would. 

“I can see we’re pulling out all the stops for my stunning good looks and shining presence. Flattered, really! But if this is to continue, sadly I will require a chaperone. Not sure how seriously Nyx’s company takes this kind of thing, but I’m afraid my family is very traditional. They would never forgive me if I let your strapping physique lead me down a path of sin and temptation so far from the eyes of polite society.” 

Charon continued to focus the meal, completely silent; even though Hermes could see the muscles in his jaw jumping as he clenched his teeth. 

He hadn’t expected such instant success. It seemed like the one thing the man might despise was shameless flirting. Hermes gleefully looked forward to testing out the theory. Prudish people were too easy to rile up with the simplest of comments. 

Still, best not ruin his trump card right out the gate. He could see just how discomfited he could make Charon another time. Hermes switched tracks, determined to criticize the food that had been placed before him. He slipped his cuffs over to the front, ready to ruthlessly pick apart the meal. 

“Ah, meat. Meat in a cup. You shouldn’t have! Truly your culinary talents are wasted out here. You might consider switching career tracks as soon as possible. I would even suggest doing so immediately. Every second you deprive the wider populace of such earthly delights is a second wasted.” He tried to imbue his words with the highest amount of sarcasm possible, popping one of the unidentifiable cuts of meat into his mouth.

Hermes had not mentally prepared himself for the possibility of it actually being good. But it was. It was disgustingly good for a man with no social skills and a prominent nicotine addiction. Time to lie then. 

“It’s terrible.” He said flatly, shoving more of them into his mouth at once. 

Charon, most likely sick of his antics, ate his meal in silence. Pointedly ignoring Hermes for the rest of the night. 

————————————

Hermes woke early the next morning, after a rather cold and uncomfortable night. 

Cold and uncomfortable for him at least. The bounty hunter only possessed one bedroll, and did not seem inclined to give it up. He had spent the night lying on the bare tent floor; wrists and ankles bound together tightly, Charon having learned from prior mistakes.

Still, silver linings; he hadn’t learned _that_ much. He’d left Hermes lying next to the horse while he packed up camp, ankles still bound, but hands back in the cuffs. Presumably, Charon thought that even if he didn’t seem that inconvenienced by the cuffs, limiting the rest of his movement would still accomplish the task. Hermes appreciated the opportunity to disappoint him. 

Working quickly, he slipped off one of his earrings. Charon hadn’t bothered to remove them; almost no one did. 

It always turned out to be a terrible mistake. 

While most of them had been custom made to contain certain supplies, this pair in particular was simple enough in make. Their attachments were just flat strips of metal, innocuous enough until you felt the material; strong and flexible enough to work as a shim.

Hermes forced the thin piece of metal in-between the base of the cuffs and the teeth of the ratchet. The shim, now wedged between the two mechanisms, stopped them from interlocking; allowing him to easily slide the cuffs open without needing the key. He made quick work of the rope around his ankles, saving it for the next part of his plan.   
  
Charon’s horse - well on its way to fostering a grudge due to yesterday’s botched escape attempt - moved away at first, but quickly settled down once he had grabbed its reins. Hermes tied the animal to the nearest tree with the rope that had been used to bind his legs, slipping his earring back on and getting ready to bolt.

If the horse didn’t hate him now, it certainly would after this. He gave it’s rump a sound smack; the animal rearing with a scream as he made his second, desperate bid for freedom.   
  
If he wasn’t allowed to use the damn horse, he was making sure Charon couldn’t either. 

Hermes practically flew forward, running faster than he ever had before, confident that the bounty hunter wouldn’t be able to catch him on foot. He would be able to calm his horse eventually, but in those few, precious minutes Hermes would be able to double back to the wide river they had seen earlier on the way to the campsite. Likely too wide and deep for Charon’s mount to cross comfortably, if at all. 

The trees flew by in a blur and he laughed, giddy with success. He could hear Charon tramping behind him, too far to catch up. No one had ever managed to outrun Hermes, not even Artemis. The bounty hunter never stood a chance. 

This assessment had been partially correct. 

Charon would never be able to out-run Hermes. Unfortunately, it seemed Charon had realized this as well, and decided to even the playing field. 

Focused on moving forward, Hermes did not hear the tell-tale whistle of a rapidly incoming projectile until it was too late. A sizable rock clipped him in the shoulder; the force of the impact sending him tumbling to the ground. By the time he scrambled up, ready to continue his flight, it was too late. 

Charon’s not-so insignificant girth slammed into him at full force. Hermes writhed and kicked for a few furious seconds, before being thoroughly overwhelmed. His hands were quickly pinned above his head, the rest of him trapped underneath the other’s weight. 

When they stilled, the bounty hunter’s face hovered above his own. Charon’s long, wild hair draped over them both; trapping them in a small, dark space where their breaths mingled, only a few inches apart.

“Well,” Hermes purred salaciously. “I have to say, it’s not often I find someone who has the stamina to keep up with me.”

Their current position gave him a front row seat to the emotional journey his comment had sent Charon onto; before finally serving its intended effect. The bounty hunter rolled off of him at once, no longer crushing Hermes half to death. Quickly slapping the cuffs back on before he could try anything else. 

Hermes was silently but firmly frog-marched back to camp. Charon’s hand clamped over the back of his neck in a vice-like grip. 

So much for escape attempt number two.

————————————————

Charon’s sour mood had not abated by the time they reached the next town. A clear sign that if Hermes tried escape attempt number three now, there would be dire consequences. 

“So, if I were to - hypothetically - scream for help and insist I was being kidnapped once we rejoin society. Would you wallop me over the head as soon as I opened my mouth?”

Charon answered with a rumbling groan. The first sound he’d ever heard the man make, most likely a firm yes. 

Charon had abandoned the cuffs for the remainder of the day, Hermes’ wrists wrapped tightly together with little room for movement. He shuffled them around town for supplies without ever letting go of his captive. Always keeping one hand firmly on the length of rope binding his quarry. 

Their last stop turned out to be, of all things, the post office; where Charon quickly slid a folded piece of paper towards the clerk. A young boy who, unlike the rest of the shop-keepers gave a wide eyed look to Hermes’ bound hands, forgetting to continue the transaction. 

“Please help, I’m being kidnapped.” Hermes said in a perfectly measured tone of voice, with absolutely no screaming. Charon, not appreciative of a good loop-hole, gave a hard yank at the rope binding his wrists. 

“What? You said no screaming; I don’t recall you mentioning anything about talking.” 

Charon pointedly slid the paper closer towards the boy. Fixing him with the kind of stare that - if looks could kill - would have sent him to an early grave. The boy, deciding it was in his best interest to not inquire further, picked up the paper with only slightly trembling hands and scanned its contents. “That’ll be two dollars for the telegram sir.”

Charon placed the amount on the counter top (exact change), walking away without another word. His business concluded, he quickly packed away his purchases and hauled Hermes back on the saddle. Choosing for some strange reason, to continue sleeping out in the elements; instead of the perfectly nice rooms available for rent at the local establishments. 

They settled down for the night once again in a random clearing of Charon’s choosing. Hermes was placed near the light of the campfire, well within sight of his captor, wrists and ankles bound. Hands unfastened only for the few minutes required for him to quickly inhale the food presented to him. Despite all his faults, it seemed Charon wasn’t willing to let him starve for the sake of convenience (yet).

A kindness that Hermes was only too happy to abuse, palming a slightly pointed rock before he was bound again.

He spent the remainder of the night doing his best to try and sharpen it, rubbing it against other rocks in the hard, pebbled ground. Grinding it into something that would hopefully wear down the ropes enough for him to wriggle his way out. Not Hermes’ finest hour, but sometimes the third time _was_ the charm. No matter how insane the ideas seemed at the time. 

The next morning he realized his crude tool was as good as it was going to get. Charon had left him unsupervised once more, wandering away to refill his pot of water in the nearby stream; engaged in preparing another batch of his strange tea. This was looking like the last chance Hermes was ever going to get. 

He wedged the rock between his teeth, sawing it across the ropes that bound his wrists together. Hoping to fray the bindings or loosen the knots. Amazingly enough there was progress; slow and steady, but progress nonetheless. 

Perhaps a little too slow and steady. Charon, having acquired the water, rose from his crouch near the bank, heading back to the campfire where he had left Hermes. Seized by panic, with few other available hiding places, Hermes slipped the stone into his mouth. You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs, and perhaps you couldn’t free yourself from your captor without swallowing a few clumps of dirt. 

He lay there quietly and did his best to look sleepy while Charon busied himself with his drink. A good enough attempt, if hindered by one crucial flaw. He was unusually silent, despite having been awake and chattering away a few moments prior.

The bounty hunter came to this realization at the same time Hermes did, fixing him with a sharp stare. Hermes looked blearily back at him, playing dumb; praying to any and every god above that the man wasn’t this hideously perceptive. The fates, as always, did not grant his wish; and the bounty hunter advanced towards him. Already working himself up into a silent snit. 

Charon seemed to bounce perpetually between uncommon consideration of his well being versus blatant disregard of his personal space _and_ his well being. This morning, it seemed it was time for the latter.

He hauled Hermes upright, prying his mouth open and shoving two fingers inside; deftly fishing out the stone sitting on his tongue. The intrusion was brief, yet the sharp, jerky movement still made Hermes choke.

“Hit the back of my throat while you’re down there why don’t you!” He sputtered, coughing wetly now that the fingers had been removed. “Didn’t think you’d be so keen to progress our little dalliance this quickly.” Charon forcefully tossed the rock somewhere far away, clearly near the end of his patience.

“Although I’m afraid I’ll require some more quality time before you try this again. Call me old fashioned, but I’d prefer to be a little more wooed before you go around sticking any appendages in my mouth without warning.” The bounty hunter slapped a hand over Hermes’ mouth to block his babbling, features set in a grim mask. 

From further away, Hermes was sure the man would look positively incensed; up close, he could see the faint flush that had started to crawl up his gaunt cheeks. Time to go in for the kill. If he wasn’t going to be free, then he at least held the power to make sure _all_ parties involved felt incredibly uncomfortable in their current situation. 

He tilted his head to the left, a movement small enough that his captor wouldn’t feel the need to restrain him, but which shifted the placement of his hand over Hermes’ mouth. Before Charon could draw back, he quickly took the offending digits back into his mouth as far as they could go; coating them in saliva and sucking hard. 

For one breathless moment, Charon stood stock-still before him; freezing in place as his fingers hit the back of Hermes’ throat for the second time that morning. Hermes, refusing to gag this time, did his best to swallow around them loudly and as filthily as humanly possible.

The sound seemed to bring Charon back to life; wrenching his fingers out of Hermes’ mouth, before pushing him away with enough force to send him sprawling back onto the ground.

He grinned up wickedly at the bounty hunter, delighting in his obvious surprise and discomfort. “I know we vowed to wait a respectable time frame before any more appendages were shoved into orifices; but what can I say? Your charming wiles have crumbled my resolve once more.” 

Charon’s already severe face transformed into something terrible and wrathful, his hand clenched his into a tight fist. Grin slipping away, Hermes tensed; sure that he had finally fractured the bounty hunter’s composure and equally sure he was about to receive the beating of his life for it. 

At the very least, he could content himself with the knowledge that he’d driven this captor that much closer to his limit, where he was more liable to make mistakes.

Hermes waited, certain that he had tipped their dynamic over the proverbial razor’s edge, growing more anxious the longer nothing happened. “Well,” He started defiantly, ill-practiced at controlling his motor mouth. “Aren’t you going to hit me? Let’s get this over with so we can both get on with our day.” 

The words seemed to have the opposite effect. The bounty hunter unclenched his fist, face smoothing back out to its usual half scowl. Pinning him under one last, inscrutable look, Charon walked back towards the campfire. Acting as if Hermes was an inconvenient, talking piece of luggage for the rest of the day.

———————————————— ———————-

While he was still allowed to ride double, and not slung over the horse like a sack of grain, the silent treatment continued well into the next afternoon. Hermes had begun to lose hope of it ever abating, plagued by ridiculous, niggling feelings of guilt.

Until they had ceased, he hadn’t noticed how expressive Charon’s small reactions could be. His face seemed physically incapable of smiling, and they had been traveling together for several days without Hermes hearing a single word (other than the occasional grunts and grumbles). Yet their one sided conversations had never felt unsatisfying before.

The journey now proceeded in stony silence, with Hermes never allowed to stray too far from Charon’s watchful eye. It seemed antagonism hadn’t been the right approach, and had actively made things worse. Resigning himself to a longer, more involved venture, Hermes re-focused his efforts in the opposite direction. 

If driving Charon to the limits of his patience had been an abject failure; he would try to find success by worming his way into the other’s good graces. 

Well practiced at smoothing over difficult tempers (a necessary skill when living with his family), Hermes spent the next few days coaxing and cajoling his captor out of his mood; using every trick Aphrodite had ever taught him. And if being slightly nicer to Charon helped assuage his guilty conscience along the way, then that was nobody’s business. A pleasant coincidence.

During their rides, Hermes talked like his life depended on it, regaling him with stories of his previous close calls. In turn, Charon managed to make clear his derision, disbelief and - on special occasions - stronger, more intense derision (the only three emotions he seemed comfortable with) without ever needing to speak. 

And if (as time went by) Hermes found that the few moments where he could coax a laugh out of Charon had started to become their own reward, then that was clearly a problem for _future_ Hermes. Whose implications could be analyzed at a later date. Current Hermes had more pressing concerns.

“Hey,” He kicked his heel back, smacking the top of Charon’s boot. “Are you heading towards that town up ahead?” He leaned back, hoping to catch a glimpse of the other’s expression. “While our new and improved working relationship fills my heart with joy. I do need to ask - is the no screaming rule still in place?” 

Charon made one of his vague grumbles, whose meanings Hermes had become rather adept at deciphering. _Yes._

“Well you can’t blame me for trying can you?” He sighed dramatically, slumping back onto Charon. Having grown used to the necessity of using him as a backrest, jammed into an odd position near the front of the saddle.

They rode into town, past all other establishments, heading towards the post office. More than likely it was time for another telegram. Charon sent a truly staggering amount of correspondence for a man with no set address.

After dismounting, Hermes trailed idly after the bounty hunter, still connected by the length of rope that bound his wrists. He expected to drop off another quick message for whoever It was that Charon was contacting and nothing more. 

However, Charon had barely ducked past the doorway before the clerk seemed to recognize him. Waving him over to the desk. “You must be Mister Charon. Telegram for you.” The clerk slid a single sheaf of paper towards them.

Hermes, now insatiably curious, wormed his way under Charon’s arm in order to read it’s contents. The bounty hunter made no move to remove him or block its contents from view. Though once he had caught a glimpse of it; Hermes almost wished he had.

_ZEUS NOT BUDGING_

_WILL TRY TO DISCUSS WITH ATHENA_

_UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE HADES SAID PROCEED WITH SECOND OPTION_

_NYX_

The words on the page made his blood run cold and his mind spin off into a dozen different directions. 

“What’s going on, and what does she mean by that? Is that Nyx, **THE** Nyx? Why would she be talking to Athena?” Hermes stumbled after Charon as they left the store without a word, having pocketed the dreaded paper. “Charon,” He snapped, frazzled and halfway into a panic. 

The bounty hunter made a jerky nod towards their horse. A piss poor response - even by his standards - but Hermes understood without it needing to be said. 

Whatever answers Charon was willing to provide, he would only do so once he had settled down for the day and set up their camp in the middle of nowhere, as was his preference. 

For good or for ill, Charon did not make him suffer long. When he had found a suitable location, he had left Hermes sitting next to the saddle bags. Legs bound, but hands free; occupied with a thick envelope the bounty hunter had produced from one of the many pockets in his large overcoat.

Charon didn’t even bother to supervise him as he set up the tent. Trusting that it’s contents would keep him occupied long enough to prevent any escape attempts; which it did. 

The envelope had no address. It’s edges creased and bent from lingering in Charon’s pocket for an unknown amount of time. Inside there was an assortment of legal documents and a single letter, whose contents managed to boldly surpass the anxiety brought on by the telegram earlier. 

_Olympian,_

The missive opened, in a penmanship that Hermes had not seen in years, but still knew. Hades.

_Despite their insistence on the matter, I have never been plagued by envy over my brothers’ lots in life. As Zeus and Poseidon have continued down their predestined paths on a whim, doing whatever they pleased, I have continued my toil; providing your family with the comfort and security granted by my willful ignorance, as Grand Marshall of this territory. This I have done out of respect for our shared blood. At this time, our arrangement has been rendered null and void until further notice._

_Doubtless, my brother has fabricated a number of excuses for this development, if he has made it known to the rest of you at all. Know this, Olympian, whoever you may be. I have broken my oath of protection only after Zeus has broken one of his own. Your glorious patriarch, in his infinite folly, has crossed the one sacred line we had set between us. If you have been informed of the fate of Persephone, know this to be the cause of your troubles._

_To whatever family member Charon has captured, I provide the following details, and submit the following proposal:_

_\- Prior to the delivery of this missive I have given Zeus plenty of opportunities to undo his mistake. Charon has been instructed to provide this letter to you only after he has doubtless insisted on stubborn refusal._

_\- If my brother wishes to forsake the trappings of familial loyalty in pursuit of his childish whims, I too can play such a game._

_\- Unless Zeus rescinds his previous actions and removes Persephone from the needlessly dangerous environment he has placed her in, the recipient of this letter will be handed over to the proper authorities by Charon. From wherein they will be tried to the fullest extent of the law for any crimes associated with their name._

_\- In light of this recipient being yet another victim of my brother’s whims, I am willing to provide a counter offer to them and them alone. So they may yet have some measure of influence over their fate._

_\- Once Zeus decides you are a necessary sacrifice for his ends, and refuses to return Persephone to her rightful place, I will ensure that his life becomes a torment from which there is no escape. The true sphere of his influence and corruption shall be revealed before relevant courts of law. And so, all wealth and assets of companies associated with his name or his heir, Athena’s name, are to be seized as evidence. With any and all of their known associates in these ventures prosecuted accordingly._

_\- Should the recipient of this letter agree to provide testimony of all their past and present knowledge of the Olympian clan’s illicit and illegal activities for the purposes of this trial, they will be granted a full pardon of any warrants requiring their arrest._

_\- Should the recipient of this letter refuse to do so, they will (as previously planned) be handed over to the authorities and tried to the full extent of the law. The inquiry into the corruption within the Olympian estate moving forward with or without their involvement._

_When you have made your choice in this matter, please indicate your preference to Charon, who will ensure it reaches my offices accordingly. Should you have any further questions regarding this situation, feel free to direct them to him. While Charon is unable to converse, please do not mistake his silence for simple-mindedness._

_In this matter, Nyx has ensured his full cooperation. Whatever you wish to know while you consider my offer, he will make known to you. Until you reach a decision he has been contracted to keep you as safe and as comfortable as possible; so long as you do not attempt to circumvent my will by trying to escape your sentence._

_Hades._

Hermes read and re-read the words in frantic disbelief. Pouring over their letter, and the attached paperwork - proof that Hades had been making good on his threats to pursue legal action against his remaining family - until it had grown dark, and he had worked himself up into a frenzy. 

Charon - finished setting up the camp and building a fire - gently shuffled Hermes to a warm spot near the flames. Having found him hunched over in the same position he had left him in nearly an hour previous, too worked up to notice the evening chill. 

“Is this why?” He laughed hysterically, brandishing the papers aggressively in Charon’s direction. “Is this why you’ve been hounding Ares for what feels like months? Hades thought he’d crack the easiest didn’t he? He’s set you to dog our steps until the end of the earth for something my idiotic father brought about by messing with _Persephone?_ ”

“Persephone,” Hermes repeated shrilly, past knowing or caring if Charon was still listening. “Only the alleged love of Uncle Hades’ miserable life, that he’s been pining over for years and years! Of course, Persephone! The woman Pop vowed to keep out of his ill-conceived schemes so his cop brother wouldn’t send us all to hang!”

“Except of course he hasn’t!” He continued, increasing exponentially in volume, teetering on the edge of a full on breakdown. “That would make too much sense. He’s gone and done something completely stupid and gotten her involved. God knows what; because I certainly don’t! No, I’m just one of Pop’s many idiot bastards tramping all over the country side doing his bidding; without a single clue of how he’s just been sitting around back home, _fucking up monumentally_!”

He continued to force the words out between wheezing breaths, not ready to be stopped by anything so paltry as an impending panic attack. “And now - now! - I’m offered the gracious choice of betraying all my siblings with _no_ guarantees of their safety. Or, I can not do that, and just submit myself to the authorities for whatever punishment you all see fit to provide!”

“Excellent, fantastic! I can think of no better ending to the most incredibly horrible week of my life. Such a fitting conclusion to being bashed in the head, carted around like an inanimate object and having my wrists chafed raw by your damned rope while I freeze to death every night!” Hermes, unable to keep talking for once, placed his head between his knees. Or tried to at any rate - bound as they were - desperate to hide his face for the moment. 

_No, no no no, not now, not now._ He thought to himself, trying to will away the frustrated tears that tended to occur whenever he got too worked up.

Hermes, caught up in stress and anxiety, had not noticed Charon moving closer. And in fact, was paying no attention to him at all, until the large, warm weight of Charon’s overcoat was draped around his shoulders. Bringing his thoughts to a screeching halt. 

“Oh, so now you notice I’m cold.” He mumbled; trying and failing to subtly wipe away any evidence that he, a grown man, had come perilously close to a full on crying jag. Charon sat next to him, setting down a little unmarked tin off to the side; working on loosening the bindings remaining on Hermes’ legs.

“A little late in the game to start being nice to me don’t you think?” Hermes asked, trying to avoid thinking about how - initial capture and thwarted escape attempts aside - Charon had probably kept the bounds of his contract as best as he was able to. “If this is your long-con to get me to apologize for mild sexual harassment, I want you to know you’ll die trying before you can successfully make me regret any of my terrible plans. Athena’s been trying to get that to happen for years with mixed success.” 

Charon let him keep babbling away without complaint, as he had done for the last several days. Reaching for his wrists - slowly enough that Hermes could have avoided his grasp, if he so chose - drawing them closer to the light of the flames, examining the mild case of rope burn.

“May I ask why you’re doing this now, of all times; do I just look _that_ sad and pathetic?” 

Charon gave a firm nod, taking some salve out of the tin and applying it to the pink welts surrounding his wrists. Making Hermes laugh before he could think to hold back the impulse. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate your rather helpful styles of penance; but I’m obliged to remind you that this moment of weakness and charity changes nothing. We will return to your Sisyphean torment of me trying to talk your ear off bright and early next morning. Prepare yourself for the sheer multitude of questions Hades mentioned I was entitled to ask and you are obliged to provide answers to.”

Charon nodded firmly once more, by now well versed in just how much Hermes could talk when he set his mind to it.

Hermes felt the rest of the evening pass by in a blur; once again absorbed in thoughts of the situation Zeus had landed their family in.

When it came time to sleep - Charon cuffing their ankles together, allowing him full use of all his limbs for the first time in days - he found he could not do so. Laying awake for what felt like hours, still wrapped up in the borrowed coat. 

Hermes drifted off uneasily, enveloped in a cloud of anxiety and the smell of citronella. A scent which clung to Charon’s coat so strongly that it (thankfully) overpowered any trace of the many cigarettes he smoked each day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun historical fact for this chapter - Citronella is natural insect repellent!! Charons just a little handy lad with lots of fun frontier knowledge :0 but we learn more about this in chapt 3 ~
> 
> formal apology to hermes, most other charmes fics have him be so fun and swave and peppy and im just like.  
> **Sprays this boy with water like a cat**  
> You're overworked, you have anxiety and are on the verge of a panic attack, slow down bud.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW - Animal Death/Euthanasia
> 
> I want you all to know that this chapter had to be cut in half bc hermes wouldnt stop being hermes and acting out

Far from the path - or any other signs of human settlement - there was little to break the stillness of the morning. Inside the tent, the rest of the world sounded faint and distant; the few bits of sunlight that filtered through its thick canvas dim and muted. Buried under the folds of Charon’s overcoat, Hermes happily ignored the rising sun; warm and comfortable for the first time in days.

Charon was not so easily dissuaded.

There was a series of light, insistent taps at his ankle. Obnoxious prodding that did not let up, even when Hermes tried to avoid it by curling up tightly underneath the coat. “No. Absolutely not. You’re going to have to go on without me this morning. My hours of operation have been greatly reduced, and I refuse to be moved until later this evening.”

A hand wormed its way underneath the coat, taking Hermes’ ankle in a firm grasp. An unspoken, yet effective threat.

“Alright! Alright, you win! No need to yank me out you savage.” He groggily stumbled out of the tent, letting Charon cuff his hands once more without complaint. Any pointed glances at the coat were not met with additional compliance.

“I hope you weren’t planning on getting this back anytime soon. I’m afraid I don’t find myself all that willing to return it, especially after that awfully rude awakening. You’ve somehow stolen the top spot for the worst morning after I’ve ever experienced.” Hermes said, pointedly wrapping the coat around his shoulders and buttoning the top closed for good measure.

Charon jerkily handed him a cup full of oats, the unnatural slant of his mouth growing even more pronounced as he tried to hold back a scowl. “I see you’ve even given me a utensil this morning; color me impressed,” Hermes added, unable to resist the siren call of needling his unwilling companion.

Like every other meal Charon had so far produced, it was unfairly and unnaturally good; still warm without being too hot, sweetened with honey. Hermes finished it faster than he would like, scrapping the spoon against the bottom of the cup until it was well and truly empty.

“Despite the atrocious table service, food was excellent as always; so thank you for breakfast. At first I was kidding about the culinary arts being your true calling, but I’m starting to think I was onto something there.” He commented, handing the cup back to Charon with a smile; taking note of the tense set of his shoulders.

While he’d worn down the bounty hunter’s anger over time, getting on his good side was proving to be an even harder feat. Hermes had found he was only willing to accept a limited number of pleasantries per day. Too much complacency, too many compliments; and he inevitably drew back into his scowling, suspicious shell.

A little obnoxious, but not impossible to overcome. All the best cons took time. Time to find habits and patterns, gaps in the target’s life you could slip into; holes to fill and exploit in equal measure. Until he could determine the details of Hades’ offer, obtaining Charon’s trust was still a solid Plan B he could not afford to neglect.

 _Ugh, Hades._ Hermes scrubbed a hand over his face; even with Charon’s dour presence to distract him, it was hard to forget the contents of yesterday’s letter. As well as the intense spiral of panic they had caused. “So, since you had the gall to wake me up; I think it’s only right I get to ask some of those questions now.”

Charon answered him with one his monosyllabic grunts. Rifling through the saddlebags and procuring a leather bound journal. “Well that certainly makes things easier.” Hermes said, wiggling closer to Charon's side, easily able to peek at the journal’s pages from his new vantage point. “Now then, let’s get started.”

He arranged himself properly for their conversation; taking great pains to be unnecessarily close to his captor. The long, lean line of Charon’s thigh pressed against his own, clearly making the other man wildly uncomfortable. A great start, but still open to escalation. Hermes slipped his calf under Charon’s own, twining their legs together. Giving a bright smile in answer to Charon’s thunderous scowl.

Situation sufficiently escalated, he turned back to the blank page Charon had opened the journal to; wanting to distract the bounty hunter before he could move away. Uncomfortable situations only worked as an interrogation tactic if the victim _stayed_ flustered.

He tapped the edge of the book sharply, bringing them back on track. “First question, out of professional curiosity; how much is Hades paying you to do this?”

Tense and unhappy; but coming to the conclusion things would proceed much faster if he stayed put, Charon scribbled down his answer with a small, stubby looking pencil.

Hermes boggled at the length of the figure left on the page. “That’s,” He started, trailing off into silence before he could continue. “That’s impressively high. That’s more than my actual bounty. I’m not sure if I’m impressed or insulted; who knew uncle Hades had this much money? Anyway, next question. How close is he to litigation? What evidence, if any does he have on Pop and Athena?”

Very close it seemed. Charon’s spindly writing sprawled across the page. Detailing the bulk of Hades’ efforts; which had culminated in a succinct, but terrifyingly accurate list of witnesses. Who were prepared to vouch for the existence of Zeus’ illicitly acquired goods and Athena’s subsequent laundering of said items over these last several years.

Not good, not good at all. Assuming Charon was telling the truth, it seemed like they were well and truly fucked no matter what happened to Hermes. He chanced a look at the bounty hunter’s face, still industriously scribbling away the details of Hades’ plot.

Lying was always a possibility, but Hermes felt instinctively this was not the case. Hades _would_ be the kind of person who would spend countless hours of effort to get one over his brother in their constant petty drama. Shame that this time it had a high chance of ending up with his untimely death, likely with some of his siblings along for the ride.

 _Family. Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t live without ‘em_.

Hermes gave into the nervous impulse to move. Tapping his heel repetitively against the ground with enough zeal to completely flatten the now mangled grass underneath.

“If,” He began hesitantly, almost afraid to voice the thought aloud. “If I accepted his offer, what would happen to the rest of us? His issue’s with Pop right; does he really need to involve the rest of my siblings?”

Charon’s words were rendered with painstaking slowness. ‘ _I do not know.’_

“Well, that’s non-negotiable!” He sputtered, now even more tense and unhappy than Charon himself. “You’re taking me back to town so I can send Hades a message of my own. Complicated family relationships are one thing, throwing them under the proverbial axe is quite another. A little cold-hearted to consider doing that to my old man instead, certainly; but he can take care of himself! Can you even picture Artemis in court? They’d end up having to muzzle her before the end of the day!”

Some of his siblings - especially those he tended to work with on his side of the family business - were even more ill suited for polite society than Hermes himself. Artemis and Ares, the sizable muscle of the Olympian operation since they’d been old enough to shoot, likely had a list of manslaughter counts longer than they were tall. While there was a possibility Hermes would be given a death sentence, for Artemis and Ares there would be no other option. The moment Zeus’s empire collapsed, their fate would be sealed with a grim certainty.

Hermes struggled to keep taking measured, even breaths and bring his focus back to the matter at hand. Putting visions of dead family members metaphorically out of sight and out of mind.

“Last question,” He said slowly, still working on recovering his cheery facade. “What exactly happened to Persephone? I think I’ve found myself a bit out of the loop on that one.”

Charon, who had been peering down at Hermes with another one of his inscrutable looks, turned back to the journal, and proceeded to pen another impressively long paragraph. Hooking his chin over the other’s elbow - all the better to watch the words unfurl across the page - Hermes’ eyebrows climbed progressively higher at the mess being detailed before him.

When Charon finally stopped writing, he stayed exactly where he was. The bounty hunter taking the extra weight without protest as Hermes sorted his own thoughts out.

“Let me see if I’m understanding this right. Persephone, who’s been in some secret, illicit relationship with Hades, that they’ve managed to successfully hide from Demeter for the last several months. Who he hasn’t been allowed to see for the last several weeks, due some unspecified reason; has been shipped out of the state by my father. That - probably after finding out about their steamy affair - decided to claim he needs her help to aid some of his terrible, murderous business partners in opening a Gambling Establishment in Texas?” Hermes pronounced the last words with a rising staccato beat, growing pitchy with disbelief.

He gave a deep sigh, still leaning heavily against Charon’s side, caught up in his racing thoughts.

“I’ve been birthed from the loins of the worlds _stupidest man_. Don’t get me wrong, he has his moments; and for some god-forsaken reason we all care about him still. But this is, without a doubt, his worst moment to date; and possibly for all time. A casino? He couldn’t even make a believable lie for whatever half-cocked plan he’s trying to play out; like a farm, or a flower shop?”

Finally deciding to put the man out of his misery and untangling himself from Charon; Hermes flopped back onto the ground, mulling over this last piece of the puzzle.

“Alright, now that you’ve helpfully made clear why this is happening in the first place. There’s still one thing I don’t understand.” Hermes mused, ripping up handfuls of grass to occupy his hands as he spoke. “I get why Hades is after Persephone, he’s only been obsessed with her since _forever_. And now he’s successfully managed to overcome their disgustingly sappy mutual pining, so good for her; sounds like that all finally worked out for them.”

“What I don’t get,” he said, rolling onto his side to face Charon. “Is why Nyx is helping Hades in the first place. Athena told us you’re under her employ, not his. Why would she bother loaning you out for his personal vendetta? I’m aware of their professional relationship, and the impressive success they’ve had in cleaning up crime and bringing order around Sacramento. But there doesn’t seem to be a good reason for her to be expending any sort of effort beyond that. I wasn’t under the impression they cared for each other all that much on a personal level.”

A nod, likely in confirmation to the little love lost between Hades and Nyx.

“What, is she also desperately in love with her?” Hermes joked, shooting Charon a sardonic smile.

Another nod.

“What,” He asked flatly, abandoning all pretense of relaxation. “Persephone,” He started, struggling with his disbelief. “Sweet, innocent Persephone, who would have fainted at the sight of something more intimate than a bare ankle last I saw her, was involved with Hades _and_ Nyx?” Charon indicated his assent once more.

Hermes dragged himself halfway into Charon’s lap once more, taking his wrist in a death grip. “Alright, forget about everything to do with my family’s impending doom for the next half-hour. This is _leagues_ more interesting. I need you to take that pencil back out and give me all the hot gossip your spindly little fingers can muster. Who made the first move? Is Nyx as whipped for my dear adopted cousin as Hades is? And - unbearable psychic damage it may cause me non withstanding - is this some kind of threesome? Inquiring minds want to know. It’s me. I’m inquiring.”

Charon seemed to forget his previous discomfort in the face of Hermes’ rapid-fire ranting. A dry, rasping laugh stuttering out between his mangled lips, before he took up the pencil once more and proceeded to do just that.

———————

There were very few things that seemed to please Charon (or at least put him into a pleasantly neutral mood). None of them involved Hermes.

The list so far seemed limited to:

1.) Cigarettes

2.) Proper maintenance of the head-bashing rifle

3.) His be-deviled wretch of a horse (which had developed a grudge against Hermes after escape attempt number two)

In light of this morning, Hermes found he could reliably add a fourth item into that list. Providing detailed accounts of Hades’ personal affairs in the most unflattering way possible.

Charon had proven himself to be a veritable fountain of the highly prized ‘ _hot gossip_ ’; invaluable currency in a family as messy as the Olympians. Aphrodite herself would have been green with envy at his newfound - and unfortunately deep - knowledge of their uncle’s relationship drama slash romantic proclivities. There were some things the human mind wasn’t prepared to know. The exact relationship dynamic between Hades and Nyx; and the role Persephone played therein being one of them.

“Well…Dionysus keeps telling me there’s different strokes for different folks. So I suppose it would be a bit close-minded of me kink-shame.” Hermes mused, once he had finished skimming over Charon’s last round of answers. “If it truly makes them happy, for whatever reason, then good for them I guess.”

Charon did not comment, carefully extricating himself from Hermes’ grasp to go put away the journal. It seemed story time was over for today.

“I have to say, the more you tell me about the Nyx, the more interesting she becomes. Not only is she allowed and encouraged to occasionally steal away Uncle Hades’ wife in-all-but-name; but you’re making it sound like she’s responsible for any of this working out at all. She should go into relationship counseling! Do you think she would have any openings to begin working on some of Hades’ equally emotionally repressed family members? Asking for a friend.”

Hermes received no answer to his chattering, not that he expected one in the first place; Charon still engaged in rummaging through the rest of his things. Sometimes it was just good to think out loud, whether anyone was listening or not.

“In any case, boss, what’s next on the agenda? ” He asked, watching Charon pack away several items into another smaller bag.

Having arranged the little bag to his liking, Charon headed back over and gestured at Hermes to rise. “We heading into town so I can give Hades a piece of my mind?”

Charon shook his head, crouching down at Hermes’ level and impatiently gesturing with his free hand. “I’ve got to be honest with you here, I think you might need to develop your pantomime skills a little more before I can get what’s going on here.”

With an annoyed huff, Charon took Hermes’ hand; tracing several letters into his open palm.

_W - A - S - H_

“Oh.” Hermes said, facing the realization that he had been the very opposite of clean for several days. “Can’t say I blame you, we could probably both do with some freshening up to be honest. Didn’t realize there were baths available near here.”

A second, even more terrible realization came on the heels of the last. He wasn’t quite sure he’d seen baths offered in any of the establishments they had passed in town. With growing apprehension, Hermes began to suspect this detail would not be a limiting factor. As Charon’s modus operandi so far relied on doing things as rustically and as far removed from society as possible. “Please tell me you’re not about to dunk me in a creek, like some sort of backwoods lunatic.”

Charon lifted him by the arm, keeping a firm grip on Hermes as he walked them away from camp and towards the nearby stream. “This isn’t funny, I’m going to catch pneumonia. I will catch pneumonia and die solely to spite you.” He whined, only to be met with stony silence. They continued walking despite any and all protests until reaching the widest part of the stream. A section where it fed into a larger river; several feet wide, with water that looked to be about waist deep for someone of Hermes’ height.

“I can run away, I may have left my shoes behind in the tent but I can still leave you in the dust. There’s a good chance you would never catch me, leaving you unable to enact your ridiculous revenge. This is revenge isn’t it? If it’s about the fingers thing, I want to remind you that I didn’t bite them at all, not even a little bit; even though I could have.” Hermes pointed out, slightly cut off by Charon’s tense grip migrating to the back of his neck. The span of his hand wide enough that the tips of his fingers pressed dangerously close to his throat, threatening to cut off air.

Despite receiving no reply, the way that Charon had started removing his boots with his free hand was answer enough. The little bag and Charon’s hat were discarded somewhere at their feet, a horrible omen of what was to come.

Quickly divesting him of the borrowed overcoat, Charon hefted Hermes onto his shoulder with insulting ease; and began walking towards the river. “No, no, no, no, no-no-no, nO, NO, NO!” Hermes shrieked, as Charon headed towards the deepest point; tearing Hermes away from his shoulder and dunking him bodily into the waters, clothes and all.

Charon made no further efforts to hold on, letting go as soon as he had extricated Hermes from his person. Hermes on the other hand - panicking from the moment his head had been forced underwater - scrambled back up the bounty hunters torso with the manic zeal of a half-drowned rat the moment he was free.

He clung like a limpet to Charon’s chest, hearing _and_ feeling the horrible man laughing at Hermes’ expense.

“If you, ever -” Hermes seethed, breathing heavily and burying his damp face into the crook of Charon’s neck. “-do that to me again, next time your fingers are near my mouth, I’m definitely biting them off.”

“Hrrnghhhh,” Charon’s rumbling groan took on what in another, kinder person might have been an apologetic tone. Hermes remained unconvinced. He fumed in uncharacteristic silence; locking his legs tighter around Charon’s waist, hands fisted tightly in the back of the other’s shirt. Having managed to loop his arms around the bounty hunters neck in his mad scramble, cuffs and all. He wasn’t going down a second time without taking _someone_ with him.

Charon waded them back out towards the bank, having managed to tear himself out of Hermes’ iron grip, leaving him resting in the shallows.

“Part of me regrets taking off my shoes to sleep like a civilized person. But something tells me this wouldn’t have stopped you. You seem like the kind of disrespectful ass that would have dumped me in the river regardless and ruined a perfectly respectable pair of leather boots.” He complained, watching as the bounty hunter began taking several spare articles of clothing out of the small bag.

One day ago, this would have been a perfect opportunity to try to escape. As it was, Hades had ensured that bigger problems would follow him no matter where he went. Forcing Hermes to resign himself to the current situation; backwoods baths included.

When Charon returned he began plucking at the collar of Hermes’ shirt with a look of grim determination. Effectively interrupting any further thoughts about the indignity of the moment, in favor of experiencing it in real time.

“No,” Hermes said sternly. Trying desperately to hold onto his last shred of self-respect and personal space.

Charon gave another hard yank at the shirt, clearly trusting in the firm belief that all his commands were inevitable.

They locked into a staring contest for several tense moments; before Hermes made a token effort at running away. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to get far, but refusing to go down without a fight. The insultingly quick struggle that ensued not only left him without his now soaked shirt and pants, but saw the cuffs swapped out for more rope; tightly binding his hands together at the wrist, mostly immobile.

Charon gave a firm look at the one article of clothing remaining.

“You are a dirty, _dirty_ man.” Hermes bit out, relenting in the end and removing his underwear. Tossing the last piece onto his pile of damp clothing on the shore. “I want you to know that. Please understand that I mean this from the bottom of my heart: you are a certified freak. I’m sensing some parallels between you and Nyx. It must run in the family. ”

Charon did not answer, leaving him fuming and naked in the shallows as he retrieved a rag and a bar of soap.

“I’m a grown man, I have hands. I’d love to run away but I don’t think that’ll help this time around, thanks to Hades. I know it, you know it. I think we can put that earlier moment of weakness behind us don’t you think? Can we at least not tie me up and let me bathe myself? I’m willing to compromise, we can reach a very generous halfway point. Anything is on the table, sexual favors included.”

Charon ignored him thoroughly, lathering up the rag in absolute silence. “If you’re this desperate to see me naked, restrained and begging I can promise you there’s several infinitely more fun contexts we could have this occur in. Aphrodite’s told me all about them.” Hermes offered, in a last ditch attempt to weasel out of what he felt was sure to be the most uncomfortable experience of his life.

Charon rolled his eyes and flicked him gently on the forehead. Taking his shoulder in a firm grip that would be hard to slip out of, beginning his grim task.

In the end, it did not turn out to be the most uncomfortable experience in Hermes’ life. The situation instead morphed into its own unique torment for several reasons; the first one being that it turned out to be not so terrible after all.

His captor was quick and methodical, moving with clinical efficiency; focusing mostly on his upper half. Pinned under the weight of Charon’s hand and the exhaustion of several days of poor sleep; Hermes relaxed against his will. Letting the other move him as needed; resolutely keeping up a stream of commentary to fill the air.

“This is wholly unnecessary,” He mumbled, trailing off into silence as reason number two entered the fray. Having finished a brisk pass over his hair and shoulders, Charon had moved onto the only thing left; Hermes’ face.

The rag ran softly along the curve of his jaw, careful to avoid catching on his jewelry. The kind of halting, uncharacteristic gentleness that seemed to seize Charon in fits and starts.

Odd moments in between the rest of his gruffness; as he flipped back and forth between his desire to keep Hermes firmly confined with stony silence. Versus remembering he was meant to keep him ‘safe and comfortable’; struggling to undo any damage or discomfort he might have previously caused.

Hermes closed his eyes, unable to stomach the idea of eye contact at the present moment; an unnamed emotion prickling at the back of his throat. “Chef and now personal bathing assistant. If you’re not careful you’re going to end up having all your outlaws fall desperately in lust with you, and then where would you be?” He joked.

Charon did not respond, shifting his grip to tilt Hermes this way and that as he rinsed the soap out of his hair. Thumb resting just a few spaces shy of his collarbone, surely close enough to feel the way his heartbeat had begun to pick up speed, hammering away at his throat.

Hermes refused to open his eyes, lest catch sight of Charon and add another layer of unbearable awkwardness to the situation. He sat there in self-imposed darkness; caught between the hand at his shoulder and the soft, sweeping touches of the cloth at the base of his neck. “It might be the complete lack of genuine affection in my childhood speaking, but I have to say you’re not half bad at this bath-house thing. I’m sure your rugged looks and brooding temperament would be a real hit with the ladies in Sacramento. Have you ever considered being a male gigolo?” He babbled, trying desperately to keep his mind off the situation, suppressing the little shivers that crawled up his back with each unexpected touch.

Reason number three at least, provided a great distraction. Wet ropes on wet skin were an even more disastrous combination than wet handcuffs. The shift of the heavy, damp material quickly rubbing his wrists raw once more.

When he finished at last, Charon quickly moved Hermes over to the shore. Fitting him with another rope collar - thankfully dry this time - which he affixed to a high branch. Leaving Hermes’ hands blessedly free once more. Allowed the one dignity of drying himself off.

“So are you handing me my things; or is the new idea to keep me tied up and naked in the middle of nowhere for your own entertainment?” He asked, receiving a bundle of fabric thrown at his face in lieu of an answer.

Hermes stretched the garment out, taking note of its size; one of Charon’s shirts then. He supposed it was better than having to wear his own wet clothes, but made a number of loud complaints when putting it on regardless. The little dipping stunt having evaporated the remainder of Hermes’ goodwill for the rest of the day.

Charon, content to let him run out of steam on his own, went back to the water to wash the rest of their dirty clothes. Leaving Hermes with precious little entertainment, as he tried his best not to look, and failed spectacularly.

The rest of Charon had fared only slightly better than his face. Other lines and scars criss-crossed across one of his shoulders, bumps and gouges that derailed the flow of the water as the bounty hunter rinsed himself off. The simmering feeling dropped from the back of Hermes’ throat, low into his stomach, as he watched the droplets race downwards. Charon’s long curtain of hair blocking the rest of his body from view.

Hermes’ mind scattered into several different directions all at once. He wrenched himself away from the sight, turning his back to the stream. Working himself up into the much more preferable state of irritated indignation.

“Are we done? Can I have my clothes back?” He snapped when Charon had emerged huddling further into the borrowed shirt, which - despite their disparity in clothing sizes - only barely covered the tops of his thighs.

Charon shook his head, jostling the dripping-wet sack hanging onto his other hand. They would have to wait for the rest of the clothes to dry. Until then it looked like he was stuck splitting Charon’s spare outfit; taking the shirt while the bounty hunter kept the pants.

Hermes huffed loudly as Charon went about undoing the rope collar and re-fitting him the cuffs. “So I’m only slightly tied up and a little naked for the rest of the day; I see, truly a vast improvement. I’m going back to the pneumonia plan. I’m going to catch pneumonia and die.” He said dramatically, blatantly angling for the overcoat.

Charon fixed him with a flat, disbelieving stare, but carefully draped the overcoat around Hermes regardless. Fixing the top two buttons to ensure it stayed in place.

They walked quietly back to camp. Hermes oddly drained after everything that had happened since he woke up, in one of his rare, silent moods.

He moved forward without thinking about it; smacking soundly into Charon’s back halfway through their journey when the other came to a dead stop without Hermes noticing. “What is it boss?” He peeked around Charon’s torso, seeing nothing at first. Almost missing the little bird that sat directly in their path.

It’s brown, dull plumage nearly blended into the rocks and dirt scattered around them; as it lay still and shivering, one of its wings bent at an odd angle.

Charon moved forward slowly, carefully, corralling the exhausted little animal between his cupped hands. The bird fluttered around - desperate to take off, but unable to - chirping loudly in the hollow of Charon’s palms. Hermes moved closer and hissed in sympathy when he caught sight of its mangled wing, small bits of bone jutting out between its feathers, likely broken beyond repair.

“Do you think it can make it?” He asked, hoping against all odds for a kinder answer. Charon shook his head solemnly; holding the bird until it quieted in his hands, his thumb rubbing a gentle line across its small head. They gazed at it for a moment longer, before - with only a slight tenseness from the other as a warning - Charon quickly snapped its neck. Putting the bird out of its misery.

Hermes jumped without meaning to, sick and startled for one horrible second; before logic caught up with his emotions. Charon paid him no mind, giving the little bird one last, fond stroke, a solemn look in his gaunt face. Sadness perhaps, if the man could feel such a thing.

Hermes felt sure he could, and did; as he watched the bounty hunter arrange the little bird gently on the ground, hiding its broken wing under the rest of it’s small body, still at last. Charon tipped his hat at the small creature, and rose once more, moving back towards camp, as if nothing had happened.

Hermes scrambled after him with renewed zeal, physically unable to let the situation pass without comment. “Well, I learn something new about you everyday boss! You’re just a big push over aren’t you?” He chirped, trotting forward to keep pace with Charon, peeking under his hat.

“Sometimes I have my doubts, given your poor manners, but I think this clinches it. You’ve barely hurt me, and we both know how annoying I am! You haven’t even starved me yet; I’d call that unparalleled generosity.” Hermes watched Charon’s jaw tighten with grim satisfaction, ready to reap revenge for being dunked in the river.

“Truly the whole package, you wonderful vision of a man!” He exclaimed, cut off as Charon yanked him forward by the chain of the cuffs. A sharp reminder of their current arrangement. Stumbling forward as they both came to a stop, Hermes collided with Charon’s chest, his cuffed hands trapped somewhere between their waists, pressing against the bare skin of Charon’s stomach.

Still feeling vindictive after his previous indignities, and ready to turn the tables once more; Hermes leaned even further into Charon’s chest. “Well hello there, boss,” he purred. “Didn’t think you were that hard up to get my hands near certain places, but I can’t say I blame you. I’ve only ever received rave reviews.”

Under his hands, Charon’s muscles twitched and tensed like an anxious race horse for one immeasurably long moment before Hermes found himself quickly pushed away. But not quickly enough to prevent him from catching sight of the considerable blush and even more considerable scowl splashed across the other’s face.

Charon stomped the whole way back to camp, unwilling to engage in further conversation as Hermes chattered away; mood completely restored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes, the bird is a metaphor 8)
> 
> Is that corny, yeah, but it brings me JOY so its staying


	4. IV

The bounty hunter’s disposition had not improved by the time they returned to camp; forcing Hermes to sit near the tent while he hung up their clothes to dry by himself.

Well aware that his last stunt had him treading dangerous ground, Hermes stayed put without complaint. Charon’s bad moods, while formidable, tended to evaporate rather quickly (as long as he didn’t push the other too far). The worst Hermes had come to expect was being ignored. Which technically wasn’t all that terrible; just very, _very_ boring. He occupied himself braiding long strips of grass, waiting for the other to simmer down from his snit.

Absorbed in trying to make a wreath that wouldn’t crumble and break after a couple of twists, Hermes almost missed the light pattering of rain, trickling down from the canopy above. Insult to injury towards their already damp clothes.

“Lovely,” He said dryly, watching as the drizzle threatened to become a full on downpour.

They retreated towards the safety of the tent and it’s waterproof tarp; watching despondently as their laundry got soaked once again, alongside everything else in the area. With the exception of Charon’s horse, which - malevolent character non withstanding - proved to be an animal sensible enough to seek its own shelter in the nearby trees.

Hermes laughed to himself as they both sat, crammed next to each other inside the tent, watching the rain continue. “Looks like you shouldn’t have wasted all that energy trying to get us clean boss. Turns out, all you needed to do was leave me sitting outside for a little while longer to qualify for a free shower.”

The bounty hunter continued to glare disapprovingly at their damp surroundings; the earthy smell of wet grass filling the tent, mingling with the scent of citronella that hung about Charon like a shroud.

It was becoming increasingly clear the weather was not about to let up any time soon.

Back to being warm and - for the most part, when ignoring the handcuffs - comfortable, Hermes decided to fully embrace their current circumstances. “So…looks like we’re not going anywhere for a bit, you mind if I go back to bed?”

There was no response, but there were no efforts to stop him either.

_Good Enough._

Hermes settled down in the unoccupied bedroll, listening to the faint drumming of the rain hitting the tarp. He buried himself into the folds of Charon’s coat once more, planning to take a brief nap until the weather let up.

The nap, of course, ended up being anything but brief.

When he awoke, the rain had stopped and the sun had crawled across the sky once more; dipping slowly towards the horizon, well past noon.

Hermes barely noticed, waking at his leisure for the first time in days. Under more usual circumstances, he detested idleness; avoiding rest like a particularly toxic plague. This usually resulted in him bearing the brunt of a potent cocktail crafted from Athena’s concern, annoyance and nagging.

Yet after his latest round of terrible nights - including the exhausting schedule prior to his capture - it was almost a relief to lie there and do nothing for a bit. Marinating in the herbal scent that permeated most of Charon’s possessions, while he gathered the energy to move.

Hermes got up only when his boredom was great enough to spur him into motion; deciding he should, at the very least, compose his response to Hades. Even if they wouldn't be able to send it until the following day. He crawled out of the tent, still wrapped up in the borrowed coat; taking care to keep it clenched tightly around his shoulders, uncomfortably aware of how little clothing he was wearing underneath.

“There you are,” He muttered, stumbling over to Charon, who lay sitting nearby, facing away from the tent. “I was hoping I could borrow your notebook for-“ He trailed off, into a huff of laughter, having caught sight of what the bounty hunter was engaged in; both of them freezing in unison when spotting the other.

“Never mind, don’t let me interrupt.” Hermes choked out in a wavering voice, trying to contain his mirth. “No need to stop on my account.”

Charon, who had been caught combing out his hair - half of it gathered up in a bun to keep the sections separate - did not seem equally amused.

“Oh come on, you can’t blame me for laughing at least a little. It’s a fantastic look, just very unexpected. Fresh and innovative, but what else should I have expected from a scion of fashion such as yourself.” Hermes sat himself down next to Charon, snatching up a nearby bottle before it could be moved out of his reach. “You even have product! I suppose your wondrous mane was a little too lustrous to be natural; but not to worry, I’ll keep your secrets.”

Charon sighed heavily, seeming to resign himself to Hermes’ presence. Going back to detangling; his long, bony fingers meticulously picking apart any knots in his hair. It seemed that the man’s lack of faith in modern comforts might have extended all the way into combs.

“Dearly wish I could mock you, but as long as we’re being completely honest, most people could stand to follow your example. Can’t exactly argue with the results.” He said, idly tugging on one of Charon’s wavy locks, watching it bounce back into the mop of hair.

He quietly watched Charon work through the remaining sections, biding his time. Waiting until the bounty hunter had finished with his task; sweeping his hair up into a high ponytail. “Do me next,” Hermes chirped, well rested for the first time in ages, ready to continue being a nuisance for his own entertainment.

“I would do it myself, but some unnamed parties have gone and left my hands completely indisposed.” He rattled the cuffs, chains jingling merrily between them. “Besides, you seemed so hell bent on my personal hygiene earlier, who am I to deprive you of that joy once more?”

Charon, now afflicted with a quiet, long-suffering air, watched him play around with the bottle while he waited for an answer. Hermes shook it vigorously, pouring some of its contents into his hand, revealing a yellowish, sweet smelling oil.

“What would this be then? At this rate I’m beginning to think you’re carrying half an apothecary with you.” He said, recalling some of the other mysterious bottles and tinctures he had seen the other procure from his person. Such as the oft seen citronella - which the bounty hunter applied every morning and night - using it as some sort of natural insect repellent.

Charon flipped the bottle upside down, letting Hermes read the label affixed to the underside. _Almond Oil._

“Aren’t you quite the naturalist,” He slapped the oil onto his hair, working it through the front of his fringe to wipe it off his hand. “Well then, what do you say - I thought you were meant to keep me safe and comfortable - are we set to round out your personal assistant duties for today or no?”

Charon greeted his proposal with all the enthusiasm of a man facing the firing squad; the unnatural tilt to his mouth growing even more pronounced.

“Come on big guy, wine and dine me for once. I’m already half naked and wearing nothing but your clothes; I think it’s only fair that-” Hermes was cut off mid rant as Charon forcefully slapped a hand over his mouth. Hermes dissolved into laughter at the over-dramatic reaction, muffled behind his palm.

When they inevitably descended into another staring contest, Hermes shot Charon a smile he knew the other could feel, if not see; knowing this was one fight he was well equipped to win.

Wasting no time on warnings or hesitation, he nipped softly at the base of Charon’s middle finger, helpfully placed directly over his mouth. The bounty hunter drew back his hand as if he’d been scalded, looking particularly offended for the virginal sanctity of his extremities.

“I did say I was going to bite next time you put them there.” Hermes reminded him smugly.

Developing a newfound enthusiasm for any excuse to ignore the last couple of seconds, Charon snatched the bottle out of Hermes’ hands and seemed to consider its label with great concentration; back to his usual stern grimace.

One of the many moods Hermes had started to catalogue and dissect. An unorthodox hobby for those long days spent in the middle of nowhere, with no one but the bounty hunter for company. Based on these previous experiences he noticed - with a traitorous curl of warmth nestling into his chest - that Charon was definitely in some sort of embarrassed sulk.

The bounty hunter gave a deep sigh, fixing Hermes with another one of those inscrutable stares. Seeming to scrape the bottom of his near limitless well of patience, before coming to a decision and motioning for him to come closer.

An uncontrollable wave of glee washed over Hermes, at the realization that he had irreparably broken a small piece of the man’s spirit. He quickly crawled over to sit in front of Charon, all but vibrating with the thrill of success. “Now I know what you’re thinking,” He said, tipping his head back to watch Charon squeeze out more oil into his hand. His gaunt features thrown into even starker relief at the odd angle. “How is this different from all that creek dipping I was complaining about earlier? I will have you know the key element here is consent. I’m perfectly fine with this happening, and very amused at how reluctant you are to engage with it in the first place. Also I happen to be _much_ less naked, which makes a world of difference.”

Charon tipped Hermes’ head forward, long-suffering look back on his face; resigning himself to his new task. Hands that once nearly wrenched his shoulders out of their sockets began carding softly through his hair. Working the oil into the strands, blunt nails scraping slightly at his scalp on each pass. The frisson of feeling that raced up Hermes’ spine at the slightest touch was there again; comfortable and electric all at once.

He nearly lost himself in the sensation; unable to hold back the noise of protest when Charon stopped at last, having finished quickly with Hermes’ shorter hair.

“I repeat my earlier statement: you should set up some sort of escort service for rich widows. I think you have a fantastic career path of male wife open to you.” He said, earning another one of Charon’s rattling rasps. The kind that meant he was trying to hold back laughter, lest Hermes start getting any ideas about his color commentary being welcome.

 _In for a penny, in for a pound._ Hermes thought to himself, deciding to commit the rest of the evening to testing his luck; given the bounty hunter’s improved mood. He let the rest of his body fall back onto Charon’s chest, using him as a backrest. “In complete seriousness, I’m sure one of my sisters knows someone who could give you a discount on business cards.”

He chattered away, words to fill the silence while he delighted in the tenseness that had filled Charon’s frame the moment they came into contact. Ram-rod straight and silent, like a soldier on parade rest; watching Hermes - draped across his lap like a particularly stubborn cat - with a carefully blank expression.

“- that’s why I think a man of your skillset, and ravishing good looks is perfectly poised to set the loins of Sacramento’s social scene aflame; you’d make a killing.” Hermes finished triumphantly, barely aware of the argument he’d been making in the first place. He suppressed his amusement at Charon’s bewildered expression - increasing in severity as he tried to follow Hermes’ leaps in logic - emphatically rubbing his fingers together. That universal sign of impending riches, often used by the conmen and street urchins that littered the back alleys of Californias’ larger cities like debris.

Charon’s eyes followed the gesture, squirming uncomfortably as he realized where Hermes’ hand sat, hovering just above his lap. Vindictively, Hermes stretched, pointing his toes. The muscles in his thighs and calves rose to definition, shifting with the movement, barely covered by the hem of Charon’s shirt. The bounty hunter jerked away from the sight, a full body motion that dislodged Hermes from his resting place. He rose, quickly walking towards their clothes - dry at last - which he then threw aggressively into Hermes’ lap.

“Finally remembered im naked didn’t you?” He yelled gleefully at Charon’s retreating back, as the man turned away to give him some privacy. “Didn’t seem to bother you much a couple of hours ago!”

Charon pointedly kept facing the other direction while Hermes got dressed, as if he couldn’t hear him talking. Hermes rolled his eyes at the sudden prudishness; a strange about-face for the man that had all but hosed him down a couple of hours ago.

Some marks had more weaknesses than most in their lives, and - despite being rather unpredictable - Charon was turning out to have a canyon-sized emotional chasm, ready to be exploited as soon as he could figure out what made him tick. Hermes smothered a giddy smile at the sight of the bounty hunter’s back - still resolutely facing a nearby copse of trees as if they were the most interesting thing in the world - carefully ignoring the signs that the effect was starting to go both ways. Sometimes, the very best lies were the ones you couldn’t help but believe in yourself.

That potential side effect of his current plan was a problem for another time. Benefits aside, riling up his unwilling companion was turning out to be marvelous entertainment that he wasn’t willing to pass up. Entertainment such as the stiff way the Charon walked over as soon as Hermes had been fully clothed. Brusquely trading the previously requested journal for his overcoat; keeping his line of sight so far away from anything that could be considered bare skin that he ended up looking pointedly over the top of Hermes’ head.

Letting the bounty hunter make himself scarce without additional heckling, Hermes settled himself to craft his response to Hades. He penned a scathing reply back to his uncle; requesting some of his own demands in return for his potential cooperation. If Hades wanted him to consider betraying most of their family, he was simply going to have to work much harder for it; and provide more salient benefits.

When he had finished, Hermes turned back to read some of the earlier pages; ready to blatantly snoop on Charon’s prior conversations as a reward. He poured over what he found, puzzling over the scattered, one sided notes in Charon’s spidery handwriting; most of them lacking any meaningful context.

_Three Bushels_

_Three bounties: two alive, one dead_

_Hypnos will deliver five doses by next week_

There were lines penned by other hands every so often. Many of them in reference to this Hypnos character, and his commendable devotion to the cardinal sin of sloth. Hermes, now enthralled by a story in one of the earlier pages - Charon’s account of Hypnos falling asleep in the midst of some sort of important meeting - didn’t bother to hide his spying as the owner of the journal approached. Earning another sharp flick to the center of his forehead for his troubles before Charon took it back..

“I’ll have you know I was reading that,” Hermes said with faux offense, watching Charon scan the contents of his future telegram. Tearing out the page and storing it in this breast pocket, once he had scrawled a note at the bottom of the page regarding their future locations.

Message composed, Charon put away the journal and the pencil. The book itself was nothing more than a couple reams of thick, yellowed pages. Hermes watched the man tuck them meticulously into one of the saddlebags; a level of care befitting something that might be one of the few means of communication left to him.

“Hey….You’ll have to pardon the rather insensitive question, but I’d rather be sure instead of taking Hades’ word for it. You really can’t speak?” Hermes asked; brazen enough to make the inquiry, but lacking the deluded confidence to pretend it wasn’t incredibly invasive.

Charon turned to face him once more, awkward silence rising for a mere moment, as Hermes tried and immediately failed to suppress the urge to ramble. “Not that you’re required to answer obviously, I’m merely curious if the tall, dark and silent affectation is a choice or -” He trailed off as Charon moved aside the collar of his shirt, showing the faint, silvery scars at his throat.

Hermes had peeked at them briefly before, but drank in the sight of them now; having confirmation for what they were. They wrapped around Charon’s neck, much like the ones above twisted around his mouth; paths of raised tissue that Hermes traced with his eyes and itched to follow with his hands. He went along the trail, stopping at the corner of Charon’s mangled lips; filled with the desperate, irrational urge to touch.

Hermes wedged his hands under his thighs, knowing a dangerous idea when he saw one.

Clearing his throat, he shifted back to the first topic he could think of; before he could do anything truly impulsive and ill advised. “Well thank you for answering. Anyway, now that it’s written, tomorrow we can take your terrible animal back to the post office for a telegram and give Hades my best.”

He cast a suspicion glance over his shoulder at Charon’s horse. Grazing placidly in the area behind them, acting for all the world like the kind of animal who didn’t try to take a chunk out of Hermes’ shoulder every time he tried to get on the saddle. “What is that horrible thing called anyway; Lucifer?” Charon shook his head. “Dare I ask for it’s real name; is it something equally grim, to match your whole ‘pale horse, and he who sat upon him was death’ aesthetic?”

The bounty hunter held out his hand once more, and Hermes offered his, letting Charon trace the letters into his open palm.

_B - O - A - T_

Hermes gazed incredulously back at Charon. “Boat,” He said lowly, struggling to contain the five stages of grief and elation simultaneously warring within him. “Your horses’ name is Boat. You’ve named this animal _Boat._ ”

Charon’s face twisted into a grimace, making it clear that whatever the state of the horse’s name, it hadn’t been his idea.

“Someone else named this horse Boat?” Hermes asked, receiving a nod this time. “And you just said YES?” He turned back to stare at the animal once more, seeing the poor creature in a new light. “I’d like to formally apologize to your horse; it’s a creature possessed by the devil but I see it’s not fully at fault. Your terrible naming skills have fractured its fragile psyche. The thing never had a chance.”

“Can’t you just rename it?” Hermes whistled loudly trying to get the horse’s attention. It continued to ignore him, as it had every other time he had tried to interact with it. “I can’t believe this.” He muttered to himself.

“Boat,” He called loudly, nearly choking on his own spit when the horse turned to look at them, listening to a command other than its master’s for once in their miserable life.

“Take the journal back out, I need to know how this happened.” Hermes nudged Charon with his elbow, jostling him until the bounty hunter acquiesced with a huff. “Explain your poor choices to me at once.”

Charon - who was becoming quite easy to persuade - did, scrawling out the legacy of Boat’s unorthodox name. A mix up, courtesy of the same Hypnos that Hermes had seen mentioned so often earlier. Apparently one of Charon’s siblings and very easily distracted to boot.

“Well now this isn’t fair, you know all my family drama, and I know none of yours. Tell me more about this Hypnos, he sounds like an interesting character.” He requested, crowding close to Charon to continue rifling through the earlier conversations in the book, which still lay on the other’s lap.

Charon shoved him off, gently but decisively, closing the journal with a snap.

“I’m bored,” Hermes whined. “Please,” He asked, taking care to pitch his voice down; the way one talked to a skittish animal, or a particularly susceptible mark. Curling his hand around Charon’s wrist before he could draw away, resting his fingers lightly above the others pulse.

Charon gazed back at him impassively, face perfectly blank and ever so slightly annoyed; while his heartbeat picked up speed under Hermes’ hand.

“Come on; I promise none of your extremities will be in any danger from my mouth for the rest of the evening if you humor me.” He wheedled, knowing that Charon would cave. And cave he did, opening the journal once more with a tortured mien.

“Didn’t you mention that Hypnos had a twin, tell me about him.” Hermes demanded, burrowing into Charon’s side; reduced to leeching body heat now that he no longer had the coat. With a sigh, Charon picked up his pencil and did, pulse stuttering ever so slightly in the hollow of his wrist whenever Hermes drew close.

—————

By the time Charon’s story telling adjourned, the damp of that morning had returned, making the night chillier than the ones before. Hermes, back to being slightly cold, a little miserable and now devoid of any additional layers, did not enjoy it in the slightest.

They ate a sparse dinner of dried goods inside the tent, watching the rain fall down in thick sheets around them.

“Why do you hate buildings?” Hermes groused, huddling into a ball on the tent floor as they prepared to sleep. “Buildings. In towns, with perfectly nice roofs. They even have fireplaces, where you can be warm during a torrential downpour.”

Charon, firmly settled within the one bed roll inside the tent, did not seem to have any tender mercies to spare for his plight. Likely having exhausted them all earlier that day, when relinquishing much of this time, effort and possessions to meet Hermes’ every whim.

He rolled around to face Charon in the dark, clenching his teeth to stop them chattering. “I’m sure you’re nice and cozy in there, but may I remind you that I do not currently feel very safe and comfortable at the present moment. In fact, I feel very uncomfortable, very cold and your handcuffs are making my hands go numb.” In a fit of pique, he pressed his freezing fingers lightly to Charon’s forehead. “See?”

The bounty hunter’s pale eyes stared at him, unblinking in the darkness of the tent.

“Please,” Hermes whined, an echo of their earlier interaction. Not bothering to try and sound seductive, frustrated misery leaking into his voice. “I know I’ve been very obnoxious all evening but I’m serious. I’m not going to enact a dastardly escape plan the moment you take them off.”

After another moment of prolonged silence, Hermes turned around with a huff; resigning himself to another evening of poor rest. Behind him, Charon lay utterly still, long enough for the rhythmic sound of the rain to lull Hermes into an uneasy sleep; only to startle awake at the light touch on his shoulder.

“What,” He mumbled, still barely conscious as Charon reached over and unlocked the cuffs.

The bounty hunter gave no reaction and no explanation, vigorously rubbing heat and sensation back into Hermes’ numb hands. “You have a very poorly timed sense of conscience, you know.” He whispered, watching as the other abandoned his task in order to shuffle their belongings around the tent; arranging the bedroll nearer to the middle.

Charon wordlessly gathered Hermes closer, bringing him into the heat and comfort of the blankets; back pressed tightly against the bounty hunter’s chest. Up close, Charon felt even pointier than he looked, the jut of his hip pressing lightly against the back of Hermes’ leg. They aligned at every point, on the razor’s edge of decency; wonderfully, fantastically _warm_.

Too tired to mock or to argue, Hermes burrowed closer; wriggling around to press his nose into the crook of Charon’s neck, sinking back into sleep the moment he was still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been thinking about the horses name ever since chapter one and im so SO happy to let you all know how stupid it really is :))))


	5. V

Hermes wakes twice that morning. The first time is at early light, still dark and drizzling outside of the tent when Charon nudges him awake. Clearly intent on starting their day regardless of the gloomy weather.

“No,” Hermes mumbles, mashing his face firmly into an unidentified surface - perhaps the bedroll, perhaps Charon’s shoulder - to block out the light. His impromptu mattress jostles him a little more, trying fruitlessly to coax him off. “No,” He repeats emphatically winding his hands tighter into the fabric of whatever lay beneath him. “It’s too early, it’s still raining, and it’s not like the post office is open in this weather.”

There are more half-hearted nudges at his shoulder. Pitiful attempts to shake him loose, where Hermes remains unmoved. Relishing in having his hands free and unbound for once; enjoying the relatively novel feeling of being anything other than cold and numb. Little by little, the surface beneath him stills, resigned to its fate; and Hermes burrows closer to his source of blissful heat, drifting off to sleep once more.

When he wakes again - to a less gloomy morning with no rain - Charon is still asleep. Hermes finds himself still too comfortable to move, but not willing to pass up this opportunity. He props his head on his elbow, waiting for a moment to see if his movement has woken Charon.

The other twitches and shuffles a little, coming dangerously close, but ultimately remains unconscious. Devoid of his rather suspicious audience for the first time in days, Hermes delights in the opportunity to watch without being watched in turn. Unable to suppress a smile at Charon’s expression, still set halfway into a scowl even when the rest of him is relaxed with sleep. He follows the line of those sharp features; the high cheekbones, the sharp curve of his nose. The raised paths of skin that cleave a good chunk of his face in half, a stark division between the unblemished and the grotesque.

A small, secret part of Hermes still itches to reach out and touch, see if the scars that shape his face feel smooth or rough. But he suppresses the urge. There is not a chance in hell that the man won’t wake the moment Hermes continues moving, or hold back from twisting his wrist if he did something so presumptuous as that. Instead, Hermes decides to waste the element of surprise all in one go, laying over Charon’s shoulder instead, lingering close to his face to poke gently at his temple, speaking right into his ear. “Hello sleeping beauty!”

The body beneath him startles awake all at once, stiff tension rushing back into every muscle. Charon catches his wrist in a vice grip, glaring at him from the moment he wakes. Had this happened a week ago, the rasping growl the other lets out would have terrified at least part of him.

“Good morning to you too,” Hermes says cheerily instead, having experienced too much of his traveling companion to be fully cowed by him any longer. “Sleeping in seems to have agreed with you. It certainly agreed with me, so thank you kindly for that at least.” Charon shoves him away sharply, flustered and upset. Hermes, grinning triumphantly, lets himself fall back without complaint. Gleefully watching the other struggle untangle himself from the blankets, still clumsy with sleep.

He lets Charon go about the rest of his usual morning routine alone, without additional torment. Content to keep lying in the tent as long as he gets a break from the handcuffs. An all too short break, it turns out, as Charon slaps the manacles back on him the moment he’s dragged out for food.

“I still think these aren’t necessary anymore,” He says, looking unhappily down at the cuffs. “I believe I’ve proven I’m not running away just yet. It would just be silly to do that, knowing what I know now. Besides, I still need to get some additional answers from Hades.” His pleas fell on deaf ears, as Charon silently cleaned up their belongings and packed up camp while Hermes ate.

Deciding to prove a point, Hermes watched Charon bustle around. Quietly finishing his meal, but taking advantage of the brief moment the other’s back is turned to slip the hunting knife out of one of the saddlebags. Wedging it beneath his thigh to keep it out of sight.

Sensing an opportune time to create an effective demonstration, Hermes quietly put down his utensils and slipped the knife out of its sheath. Making a show of picking out the dirt from under his nails with the tip of the blade.

“Before we keep this farce going, may I remind you that I got out of these once and certainly could do it again if I felt like it.” He says, watching Charon turn back towards him out of the corner of his eye. Attention firmly away from their luggage, on Hermes’ hands and the knife in their grasp. “It’s just a bit-”

He doesn't finish his sentence before the bounty hunter has crossed to his side in two quick strides. Tearing the knife out of his grip and forcing him up and off the ground by the chain on his wrists. Charon looms above him with a furious scowl, the twist in his mouth dipping further with honest anger and frustration.

Hermes dangles helplessly, like a fish on a hook; the metal of the cuffs biting into the skin of his wrists as he stood on tip toe to avoid resting additional weight on them. The difference in their statures making what is at a reasonable distance to Charon, linger uncomfortably above Hermes’ head. Dipping back into vindictive cruelty to make his distaste clear, Charon raises the chains clenched in his hand even further, making Hermes strain to reach the new height.

A fine tactic, had it not been undercut by other side effects, unbeknownst to Charon. When the metal of the cuffs digs sharply into his skin, that prickling, electric feeling sets Hermes alight once more. The jerk on his chains sends a lance of heat running through him, the kind that makes it very clear he was not, on some level, all that opposed to their current position.

“Hey, hey, no need for that,” He says sharply, scrambling to keep an even height with Charon’s level; ignoring the new and unexpected arousal simmering near his gut. _That_ little bit of self discovery can wait until he’s pacified Charon for good.

“That wasn’t meant to be a threat, you dramatic bean-pole, I wasn’t intending to hurt you with it. Just prove that I could snatch something to help me take these off whenever I wanted to!” Charon made a noise that did not sound all that understanding, but let go of the cuffs, letting Hermes fall back onto his heels and dance away the moment he was free.

“There we go again, one step forward and two steps back.” He argued mulishly, rubbing the skin around his wrists as best as he could with the cuffs still on. “I won't deny that I delight in pushing your buttons, but I’ve never outright harmed you, have I? Why do you keep jerking me around and what is it going to take for you to quit?”

Charon gave a contemptuous huff, digging around in the pockets of his coat for a cigarette. His face looked as stern as ever, but Hermes could tell his remarks had hit home from the tenseness present in his shoulders. “Stop hurting me,” Hermes said firmly. “We don’t need to be friends, but I’d like to not spend the rest of this forced vacation wondering if you’re going to snap one day.” He continued spitefully, knowing that at least some of this situation was his fault, but ready to milk it for all it was worth regardless.

“Also if you’re going to smoke that, do it downwind of me please.” He wrinkled his nose, watching as Charon acquiesced despite his ill temper, creeping around to a place where his cigarette would stand less of a chance of offending Hermes’ sensibilities.

Hermes sat quietly, nursing his wrists while Charon smoked his cigarette down to a stub, looking like he itched for another one as soon as the first was over. He sidled up next to him before he could light up the second, taking care to step loudly so as to announce his presence.

“Alright,” he began. Prepared to make some concessions in light of the fact that neither of them would be getting rid of the other anytime soon. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have just greeted you with a knife and no prior warning. Making all of your finely trained killer instincts go absolutely berserk. But, you still need to work on your self control.” Hermes bumped his elbow against Charon’s side, trying for a carefree smile and just barely clearing the bar. “If you let me take these off, I’ll even promise to forgive you.”

For the barest moment, it was clear that guilt hung heavily around Charon, his eyes dipping down to look over Hermes’ wrists with a grimace. He made another indiscernible noise of frustration, something beyond yes or no that Hermes couldn’t parse. Starting up his second cigarette, he tossed Hermes the keys to the cuffs before walking away in the opposite direction, taking the smoke with him.

Hermes quickly shucked them off as soon as he could manage it. Tossing the hated things on top of the rest of Charon’s luggage. Wishing they would fall off and be lost somewhere among the grass, never to be seen again. He sat back down on the grass, bouncing his leg at an increasing tempo; fighting the urge to get up and run some laps to get rid of his nervous energy. Charon would likely not appreciate any extra sudden movements.

Hermes scrubbed a hand over his eyes, rubbing the heels of his palms into the sockets, until little pinpricks of white popped and fizzled hypnotically in the darkness. This was getting complicated. He folded his knees up to his chest, feeling the echo of the tension on his wrists. That breathless moment of suspension which he definitely enjoyed a little too much. He willed away the little prickles of lingering arousal, folding them tight into that small, secret box of terrible feelings, which grew more crowded by the day.

When Charon returned - stinking of cigarette smoke but looking marginally calmer - he handed Hermes a little folded up note, before going back to packing up the rest of their things so they could finally set out for the day.

Hermes unfolded the paper, smoothing out the creases to read the words within:

_Off out here_

_On when in town, Hades’ orders_

“Oh so this was your idea, uncle,” Hermes muttered to himself, crumpling up the paper into a ball. Wishing he could also fold Hades into a little pile of trash and toss him over his shoulder. “Why?” He called after Charon. Earning a shrug for his troubles. Hermes decided to make several, pointed additions to the planned telegram and splurge on punctuation while he was at it. Wasting Hades’s money through Charon was petty revenge, but he certainly wasn’t above it at the moment.

He stewed in relative silence until they departed at last. Any attempts at conversation stumbling over the strange mood trapped between him and Charon; which affected even Boat. Uncharacteristically docile, she stood placidly while they loaded her up; not even bothering to throw her usual fit the moment Hermes approached the saddle.

In the end, Hermes resigned himself to another couple of hours of awkward silence. The landscape passing by in a steady streak as Charon urged their ride towards town.

————

The rest of the day passed by in a formless blur. They had rushed into town - Charon slapping the cuffs on him the moment any buildings were in viewing distance - making a brief stop to send Hermes’ response before moving forward. Trying to make good time for their next stop despite having slept in.

Charon had not remembered to take the cuffs off, when they left the post office behind. Hermes, not willing to risk another altercation, decided to let sleeping dogs lie until later that evening. He’d put up with the cuffs for closer to two weeks now, one last ride was a small sacrifice to make for some new measures of freedom later that evening. Measures of freedom he was determined to get, now that they had been promised to him.

When they stopped for the evening, he carefully watched Charon. Waiting until his mood had sufficiently mellowed before tackling that conversation. “I believe you mentioned that I wouldn’t need to wear these anymore.” He said, making the chain on the cuffs jingle loudly for emphasis. “You ready to come here and take them off boss? Or should I just go ahead and do it myself?”

“You know I can,” he sing-songed watching Charon rush to his side, looking unamused. “And that actually sounds like a fantastic idea. I’m ready for the live demonstration. No, put that key away, turn around. Let me show you how useless these are if I put my mind to it.” He flapped his hands, in a shooing motion, urging the bounty hunter to face the other direction. “Go on, a magician never reveals his secrets, don’t ruin the mystery.”

Not even the brim of Charon’s large hat - which seemed to cast one of his eyes into perpetual shadow - could hide his clear lack of patience for the suggestion. Yet in the end Charon, imposingly tall and more than capable of snapping Hermes like a twig if he set his mind to it, did turn around. Letting out an annoyed grumble, but giving him sufficient privacy to begin his performance.

It was child's play to remove the handcuffs again, using the same earring as a shim. He spun the cuffs around a circle on his index finger, twirling them like a baton. “Ta-da; less than a full minute! I’m here all week, but I do not hold for applause, strictly professional events I’m afraid.”

Charon did not look any more amused when he turned around, but caught the cuffs Hermes tossed towards him without protest; stowing them in his pocket. Afterwards, he lingered there still, long past the time he would have normally moved on after dealing with his unfortunate responsibility. “What can I help you with, boss?” Hermes asked, trying and failing to fully decipher whatever was troubling him.

Charon held out his hand expectantly and Hermes offered his, used to the gesture by now. However, instead of tracing words into his palm, he surprised Hermes by drawing him closer. Skimming over the slightly sore patches of skin where the cuffs usually sat, and where the metal of their edges had dug into earlier that morning.

“Yes, you did that, we covered it earlier. Are we reprising the pity party for some reason? No need for that, really.” Hermes chattered, desperately ignoring the feather-light touches trailing along the inside of his arm. Those sensations - and all the other feelings they brought rushing back - went inside the box, firmly padlocked shut. Denial need not just be a river in Egypt; it could also (if one really felt like it) be a personal motto and way of life.

Hermes easily slipped his hand out of Charon’s grasp, meeting no resistance when he started to pull away. “It’s alright you mother hen. I promise I won’t expire overnight if you leave these unattended.” Hermes couldn’t help but fidget under Charon’s scrutiny. Feeling thankful his complexion wasn't as fair as his companion’s, easily hiding the slight flush that had started to crawl up his neck.

Charon - as situationally intuitive as he was emotionally dense - squinted down at him for a moment longer. Knowing something was amiss but not quite able to determine what it was. He drew away, but did not release Hermes from his torment, motioning him to follow. Not wanting to test his luck now that he had been freed of the cuffs, Hermes followed obediently, if not happily. They sat near the rest of their luggage, Charon fishing out the little tin of salve he had used on Hermes’ wrists once.

Panic - and a little bit of something Hermes was going to continue ignoring - crawled up his throat the moment Charon reached for his hand. “There’s really no need to do that,” He said, hoping against hope the words did not sound as breathy as he felt. Charon cradled his hand loosely in his open palm, waiting for Hermes to make the choice, and draw away.

Hermes considered it strongly, going through the many multiple reasons why this was not the best of ideas. His hand sat pinned in place as he deliberated, contrasting against Charon’s in almost every way. “You make terrible apologies,” Hermes lied, watching Charon’s long, bony fingers fold over his own, looking small and thin in comparison. “Fine,” He said, caving into weakness, readying himself for his self-inflicted torture the way a criminal might stare at the noose. “Dote on me if you must; since you feel that strongly about it.”

That first night Charon had spread the salve over his wrists, the motions had been clean and quick, even more clinical than their little stint by the river. The experience had diverged from the present by a wide chasm of differences, right from the beginning. Then, the paste had been slathered over the afflicted area in a thick coat. Now, Charon took his time working it into the skin, massaging his hand until the salve had dissolved.

It was Hermes’ turn to sit trapped - getting a taste of his own medicine - as he was forced to face the fact that the terrible effect he had been cultivating between them very much went both ways. Several distracting conversations stuttered and fizzled out on his tongue before they could even begin; fidgeting in place as he tried to ignore the little sparks that skittered down his stomach as Charon gently rubbed circles into the inside of his wrist.

Charon carefully repeated the process on his other hand when he was done with the first; willfully ignorant or completely oblivious to Hermes’ distress. When finished, he took his leave without a word or gesture of goodbye, starting to work on fixing their dinner as if nothing important had just happened. Leaving Hermes to sit alone and deal with the fallout of the experience himself.

Which he did, if poorly, buzzing with barely contained energy well into the night. Choosing to lay on the other side of the tent, when it came time to turn in. As far apart as possible from Charon, while his thoughts chased themselves around in circles long after the bounty hunter himself had gone to sleep.

Hermes wedged his hands between his thighs to keep warm, refusing to share Charon’s space once more on this specific evening. His traitorous mind lingering on things it very much shouldn’t well into the night.

————

The next morning, he threw himself zealously into providing running commentary. Padding every pause and silence into non-existence, leaving himself no room to think. He continued this all the way into town, as they rode into the post office, trailing at Charon’s heels like a small dog, talking a mile a minute.

“Mister Charon?” The postmaster interrupted at the first opportunity. A pause for breath when wrapping up a story about the time Ares had gotten his hand caught inside an expensive vase.

Charon, looking surprisingly put out at the interjection, nodded his assent at the postmaster, thrusting out his hand for his expected missives with his usual brusque grace.

“Two telegrams for you.” The man informed them, sliding both neat envelopes into Charon’s waiting palm. Hermes watched the missives as if they had just been handed a poisonous snake instead of a letter. Filled with a strange sense of dread once more. Things had surely begun to get even more complicated.

They rushed outside, moving to let the queue continue. Forgetting the world around them, absorbed in the headings that waited primly for them, begging to be opened. One envelope addressed to Messrs. Hermes & Charon from Hades, the other to Mr. Charon, from Athena. Hermes clenched his hand tightly, letting the nails dig into the skin of his palm until it started to hurt.

_NEPHEW,_

Hades’s telegram began. Filled with enough contempt that it might as well dripped from every word on the page, like run-away ink.

_WOULD FIND YOUR GALL QUITE CHARMING IF IT WASN'T SO DELUDED._

_YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO MAKE DEMANDS. BUT IN MY DESIRE FOR COOPERATION I OFFER THE FOLLOWING CONCESSION._

_THE SAFETY OF SOME OF YOUR SIBLINGS COULD BE ARRANGED BUT WOULD REQUIRE THEM AGREEING TO A SIMILAR ARRANGEMENT._

_ARES AND ATHENA MAY STILL FACE CONSEQUENCES FOR THEIR ACTIONS WHICH NOT EVEN MY INFLUENCE COULD SPARE THEM FROM._

_CAN WORK TO SOFTEN THE BLOW OF SENTENCE IF THEY TOO COOPERATE._

_FOR FURTHER DISCUSSION, SEND FOLLOW-UP MISSIVE OR ASK CHARON TO TAKE YOU TO MY OFFICES._

_PS_ \- _CHARON IS TO KEEP YOU RESTRAINED AT ALL POINTS IN TIME. THIS IS NON-NEGOTIABLE._

Hermes’ annoyance mounted with every word on the page, close to fuming when he had reached the postscript.

“I won’t tell him if you won’t.” He muttered viciously under breath at Charon. “Because I am warning you now. If you go back on your word and start tying me up at night; I’m reneging on my promises as well and biting your damn fingers off.”

Despite their grim mood, Charon spared him a huff of laughter, shaking his head. At the very least, it seemed like they were both fine with skirting the outlines of Hades’ instructions.

Where Hades’ words had filled him with mounting fury, Athena’s crisp, pointed missive brought back his mounting dread.

BOUNTY HUNTER,

AM AWARE OF YOUR CONTRACT WITH HADES. PREPARED TO OFFER DOUBLE HIS ASKING PRICE IF YOU RELEASE HERMES AND PROVIDE US WITH FULL DETAILS OF HADES’ PLAN.

OFFER WILL ONLY BE MADE ONCE.

CHOOSE WISELY OR NO CORNER ON EARTH WILL HIDE YOU FROM ME.

ATHENA

His sister was a woman of few words, and decisive actions. If she had promised no place could hide them from her reach, it was all but guaranteed. Evidenced by the little piece of paper that sat innocently in Charon’s hand. Having accurately found its way to them from the hundreds of towns they could have been in.

Hermes loved his sister, without understanding her, as the rest of them did. Athena’s mind seemed to whiz about on a level above their own, playing five steps ahead on a game of chess her opponents had barely begun to comprehend. He had no doubt she had at least a dozen terrifyingly accurate projections for any future destinations they would choose, sorted based on probability.

She likely had people waiting in the wings right at this moment, ready to leave Charon cold in the ground the moment he refused her offer. Bringing back Hermes and eliminating one of their issues in one swift strike. It seemed Zeus had fumbled the ball on the Charon situation long enough. Athena had taken charge at last and it was sure to fare poorly for everyone except herself.


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my beta was asleep and i didnt want to wait until tomorrow so all mistakes are all mine lol 
> 
> I'll back track and fix this later but for those of you as equally impatient as me, have this subpar version for the immediate gratification of it all <33
> 
> I have also been informed this technically counts a slow burn and I'm very stupid bc the idea hadn't occurred to me earlier and i just sat there feeling like the surprised pikachu meme

There was a specific ambiance surrounding despair. Something about hidden threats - not immediate, but certainly present - always filled the air with near tangible miasma. A paranoia unique to when a man knew that he had reasons to be afraid, but was unable to confront that fear as of yet. Forced to wait out his impending demise, twitching and agitated like a gambler at the table.

Hermes, whose fight or flight instincts had been firmly set to ‘Flight’ since conception, had only been a few steps away from convincing Charon to keep pressing on for the night after reading Athena’s telegram. Ride hard until the road swirled under their feet and the wind swept away the itching under his skin.

Ever the contrarian, Charon settled into his usual, measured routine, unwilling to let the events shake him. Their evening proceeded as normal, regardless of the fount of energy Hermes had become. He bounced restlessly from topic to topic, chattering away to Charon; who had become even more reticent than usual. Barely sparing a glance or a gesture for whatever yarn Hermes was spinning for him at the time.

They both seemed to have exhausted themselves by the end of the day, one from talking and the other from listening. Hermes sat around the campfire listlessly, mechanically eating his food without tasting it. Still dwelling on that ever expanding mess Zeus had embroiled his whole family into. He put his plate down without finishing, his appetite destroyed by worry.

Hermes sneaked a look at Charon, sitting nearby, feeling the dread in his gut clench and twist at the sight of that familiar profile. “You’re not going to listen to Athena; are you?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

Charon’s fork - pushing food around his plate without eating any of it - paused for the barest moment before continuing; as the bounty hunter nodded, staring deeply into the flames.

“Why?” Hermes’ voice wavered embarrassingly, back to maximum levels of stress the moment their little bubble of bizarre domesticity had popped. “She could give you anything you want, same as my Uncle. Probably more than what Hades could ever give you. You could stop putting up with me, I wouldn’t have to consider sending some of my siblings to jail, or worse; no one would even have to get hurt! Unlike the path you’re all headed down on at the moment! Which may I remind you, is sure to end up with someone lying dead in a ditch somewhere, and it’s most likely to be you or me before it’s anyone else.”

He tried to quell the irrational disappointment that things couldn’t be solved that easily, just this once; forcing his voice down to normal decibels and a closer to average number of words per second. “Is it because of your family?” He asked quietly. Charon kept staring pensively for a moment, as if he wouldn’t answer; before he nodded once more, looking as weary as Hermes felt.

Hermes didn’t know the details of the relationship between Hades and Nyx, but the bits and pieces he had managed to pry out of Charon painted the picture of two people who were bitterly determined to continue working together, despite their minimal enjoyment of the other’s person. As long as Nyx tethered her fates to those of Hades - joined by their mutual love of Persephone - Charon and his siblings would continue to support his schemes, come hell or high water.

Anger and anxiety buzzed around his thoughts like a swarm of angry bees, crowding out most everything else. Hermes hated his father for doing something so monumentally stupid in the first place. Hated Hades for taking it to such a dramatic, possibly fatal conclusion. Hated Athena’s planned response to Charon’s refusal, since her idea of mercy would fall along the lines of having the bounty hunter cut into chunks and fed to the pigs. Hated Charon for being so stubborn, for not understanding that his sister was a different beast altogether from everyone else in his family. Hated himself, just as much, for finding that he cared about what happened to the prickly bounty hunter at all.

But above all, uselessly, he hated the terrible air that had fallen on their evening. The slight frown that had set across Charon’s brow and had yet to depart. The way he’d gone back to feeling ignored and invisible. As if he were in his father’s study again, listening to another great caper Zeus had planned out, not being listened to no matter how much he talked.

Hermes could not fix his Uncle’s bitch of a personality; he couldn’t fix his father’s lack of sense, Athena’s lack of hesitation, or Charon’s stubbornness; and he had clearly failed spectacularly at purging the growing sense of fondness for the man who had kidnapped him in the first place. But he could fix being ignored, and he could perhaps fix that light frown across his unlikely companion’s face, or at the very least transform it into something different, for better or for worse.

He crawled towards Charon quickly, before the other could think to move away. Flopping down on the ground next to him, letting his head fall into the bounty hunter’s lap, using Charon’s thigh as a pillow. “Pet me,” He demanded imperiously, imbuing the command with every scrap of false confidence he could cobble together.

“I have had a very hard day,” Hermes said solemnly. “I’m under no small amount of distress, partially due to your stubbornness. We could solve this whole venture very easily by jumping ship and agreeing to my sisters terms. But as you have so helpfully clarified, this is very much not a part of your plan. So you will simply have to dodge her hit men from now on, as they begin to make many spirited attempts on your life, with me in the cross-fire.”

“As such, I demand emotional recompense,” Charon stared down at him with increasing confusion, that little line between his eyes that meant he had heard all the words leaving Hermes’ mouth, but hadn’t finished parsing them just yet. “I think this will be very therapeutic for the both of us after the kind of evening we’ve gone through. Since you were so desperate to get your hands on me earlier - though allegedly in the name of hygiene - you raging pervert. We might as well turn this into a mutually enjoyable activity. Go on, I know you want to. I promise I am very soft and luxurious, think European lap dog.”

His last statement was enough to startle a laugh out of Charon before he could think to hold it back. A rough bark and brief, lopsided smile that sparked a swarm of butterflies inside Hermes’ chest, making him grin like a fool. “Got you that time, can’t hide it from me any longer. You think I’m amusing. At least a little, admit it.”

Hermes wiggled excitedly at this new bit of ammunition. He had expected to make Charon comically uncomfortable with his proximity, as had happened every other time before. But this outcome - earning the first smile he’d been able to force out of the man - was equally preferable, if not more so.

Charon flicked him in the center of his forehead again, sharply. And Hermes’ mocking protests died in his throat when that same hand did not retreat, but swept back into his hair, carding softly through the strands of his coif. Hermes didn’t bother to move away or hide his delight; ignoring the blaring klaxon horns in his mind. Warnings of his dangerous level of attachment, for what he had meant to be a simple mark; dispassionate emotional manipulation as a means to an end.

“You really are a push-over boss,” He mumbled, closing his eyes and giving into weakness for just a little bit longer. The gentle scrape of Charon’s blunt nails raking across his scalp on each pass, the lingering touch as he teased the ends of Hermes’ hair before starting over again. Smooth and rhythmic, continuing long past when Hermes expected him to stop. The buzzing in his mind quieted, and he nearly fell asleep where he was, on the hard packed dirt of the forest floor. Until Charon shuffled him off to bed, before he could think too much about where he was, or how long he had stayed there, having his hair petted like a child.

* * *

If Athena’s mind was best defined as a round of high speed chess; then Hermes’ was nothing more than a hand of poker. In his experience, fortune certainly favored the bold, but it mostly favored the liars. Strategy was all well and good, but why bother to outwit an opponent, when you could simply convince him that you were on the same side. One could position a rook or a bishop to corner a queen through hours of careful direction; or one could simply hide enough cards up their sleeve to ensure they finished with a royal flush in a matter of seconds.

Hermes knew his family’s illustrious career of cheating and scamming had been what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, but it seemed old habits really did die hard. His thoughts whizzed along the possibilities, on everything he knew about his father, his sister, his uncle; and the titanic clash of egos their actions would surely produce. Eventually coming to one undeniable conclusion: playing to both sides was definitely the best option in this situation.

Pitting the Olympians and Hades against each other would buy him time to decide what to do, if nothing else. Time that he could use to figure a way out of this mess. And if that outcome happened to leave Charon untouched by the effects of their pissing contest, he could finally call them even. No debt of gratitude owed, all of Charon’s odd moments of kindness repaid in full, with interest.

Or it would, if the man didn’t keep creating more of them for some reason.

The next day Hermes had awoken refreshed and ready to plot. And plot he did, laying in the comfort of the tent until late morning; buried under Charon’s overcoat. Which had somehow found its way to Hermes last night, carefully draped over him as a makeshift blanket.

Bastard. Hermes thought fondly, unable to put any heat into it. Alone in the relative privacy of the tent, he gave into the urge to press his face into the collar of the coat. Smothering a smile into the heavy fabric, breathing in that sharp, herbal smell that was uniquely Charon.

This was obviously _bad_ , uniquely terrible in a way few other things could have been. Hermes could think of no failure more immense than becoming attracted to the person you meant to exploit. He had swindled people in this manner dozens of times before, and he had seen it in action hundreds more. Poor suckers who fell into Aphrodites’ traps again and again, beguiled beyond sense. Always hurt in the end, inevitably destroyed by the reality that those careful affections had been a lie.

The very idea of attraction, of affection - not to speak of love - was a double edged sword more often than not. Aphrodite - haughty and beautiful, as sharp as Athena in her own way - had cut it’s weakness out of her heart years ago; cautioned him to do the same. And yet…Hermes lingered, like Aphrodite’s victims, beguiled beyond sense. Playing with fire, hoping he wouldn’t get burned.

He groaned, muffling the sound into the fabric of the coat so any bounty hunters lingering nearby wouldn’t hear.

Fine. It was fine, and it would be fine. Perhaps his family was right about him having more haste than sense, but he’d yet to run into anything he couldn't bounce back from. Acceptance was the first step. Hermes would quietly admit to the reality of the situation, and when it was all said and done, continue suppressing it violently forever more, over and done with.

He allowed himself the following concessions:

1.) Trying to ensure Charon made it out of this mess alive, and in good health.

For all his poor social graces and the unavoidable fact of Hermes’ bias; the man wasn’t all that terrible. Charon was gruff and temperamental, but in his own stumbling way, he was kind. He had gone from keeping Hermes bound at all hours, feigning ignorance at his complaints to letting him walk about freely in camp, stubbornly seeking to undo any hurt he had caused with more empathy than sense. He would do his best to keep Charon safe from his family , the bounty hunter deserved that courtesy at least, no matter what Hermes’ feelings towards him were.

2.) Giving himself one, uninterrupted minute to admit to his pathetic crush before shoving it back down to the depths of his subconscious.

He was attracted to Charon. Just a little bit. A perfectly normal amount. He’d only been forced to ride miles and miles pressed against him, holding on tight whenever Boat sped into a gallop. Seen the man’s impressive, naked physique at least once. Instigated and experienced several homoerotic moments that would probably take a starring role in his sexual fantasies, if he ever let them. A perfectly understandable outcome to a long string of stupid choices.

Hermes banged his head repetitively against the hard-packed earth that lay underneath their tent floor, wishing he could beat the thoughts right out of his head. He took a deep breath, folding everything back into the little box of ‘feelings to be ignored’, resigning himself to the idea that this would most likely be a daily exercise. Anything other than that would have been an even more monumentally stupid choice. He sincerely hoped he was fresh out of stupid choices moving forward.

New plan set and feelings sufficiently repressed; Hermes finally exited the tent, moving towards the other crucial step in his new goal: Obtaining Charon’s compliance in trying to two-time their respective parties. Or, if that failed, waiting for his ignorance, and doing it behind his back at a later date.

“Good morning! What are we getting today; is it another cup of nutritious oats? Should I be feeling insulted that we end up eating the same breakfast as your horse most days?” Hermes chattered, peering over Charon’s shoulder to spy on the food that was being prepared.

Charon didn’t react to his probing, gesturing for Hermes to sit. He continued stirring his pot of dubious oat-like substances, which knowing Charon, would somehow end up being much more palatable than they looked.

“No matter, you keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. It’s fantastic timing actually, I was hoping I’d find you engaged in a task, so you’d be forced to sit there and listen to me.” Hermes gathered his confidence, knowing that the delivery often did half the work, when you were trying to get people to agree with you without thinking about it too much. “I wanted to talk.”

Charon glanced back towards him, another one of those perfectly blank looks on his face, waiting for Hermes to continue.

“You’re not going to stop working for Hades, since Nyx is working with Hades. I can understand that. To a certain extent, I can even understand why Hades is doing what he’s doing. Pop messed up big time with Persephone. And if he’s actually putting her in danger, I’d be equally invested in getting her back safe and sound.” Hermes drummed his fingers along his thigh, increasing in tempo with every passing moment.

“However, I’m not so keen on facing prosecution, and letting my siblings do the same. While we’re at it, I’m also not keen on standing around in cuffs when one of Athena’s goons blows your head into bits. Traveling with you has greatly reduced my wardrobe and I would fear for the state of my one, singular shirt after that experience. That being said…I think there’s an opportunity here for us to be partners.” Hermes tasted the word, letting it roll around on his tongue, before finding a better fit. “Business associates even.”

“Long and short of it, I’m offering work together towards a mutually beneficial end. There’s probably a way to get Persephone back without Hades starting a blood feud with the rest of our family, and possibly sending me to jail. I can send a message back to my darling sister explaining the situation. Odds are, Pop hasn’t told anyone the real reason this is happening yet. Athena would be much more willing and able to untangle this mess than he is. And even if she isn’t-” Hermes watched Charon intently, waiting for the slightest indication of how the other felt about his proposition. “I’m not exactly opposed to letting both of them think I’m double crossing the other until we figure something out.”

Charon kept stirring his glue-like oat substance, mulling it over for a long, torturous moment, before giving a curt nod.

“Really,” Hermes said flatly, in disbelief at how little persuasion that had taken. “Just like that? No moral compunctions about lying to everyone we both know to save our own necks?” Charon shrugged, looking as unbothered by that prospect as Hermes felt.

Hermes smothered a laugh behind his hand, breaking his own promise only minutes after he’d first made it. Dangerous fondness strained at the seams of the metaphorical box, very much in the fore _front_ instead of the fore _ground_ of his mind. He playfully flicked the brim of Charon’s hat, drawn into his space the way water might flow downstream, with no hope of ever choosing another direction. “I’m starting to think we could’ve been real friends in another life boss.”

He lingered in Charon’s personal space until he was pushed away, the bounty hunter rolling his eyes in what Hermes knew instinctively to be fond exasperation. “Alright then, pleasure doing business with you from now on. Your wish is my command and all that. If there’s anything I can do for you in the meantime while we begin plotting, just name it.”

Charon pointedly tugged at the hem of his coat, still draped around Hermes’ shoulders like an impromptu cape. “Alright amendment. Anything but that.” Hermes said quickly. “I’m not giving this back yet, unless you’re willing to buy me a new coat.”

He paused for a moment, watching Charon calmly ladle out out their breakfast, before a wide grin broke across his face. “Actually, that sounds like a fantastic idea. You’re buying me a new coat,” He declared. “I’m fairly sure I saw a clothing store in town. You’re taking me down there to buy me a spare outfit, and then we can figure out how we want to spin our story to Athena.”

Charon huffed, grumbling something unintelligible before roughly shoving a bowl of his oatmeal slop into Hermes’ hands. It was, as predicted, unfairly decent. Hermes ate in good spirits, feeling more optimistic than he had in days. Confident that he could turn this all around with just a little bit of lying. Equally confident that Charon had already resigned himself to his fate, and agreed to buy him a new coat, whether the man had admitted it to himself yet or not.

* * *

As it turned out, Charon hadn’t yet admitted it to himself. And continued looking like he wasn’t quite sure what he had agreed to even when they were firmly situated inside the store itself, ringing up an entire spare outfit of Hermes’ choosing. He seemed to come back to his senses at last when the clerk had given their final total. A ludicrously high number, since Hermes had decided that if he was going to splurge on someone else’s dime, he might as well commit. Adding a handsome (and expensive) pair of boots to their purchases.

“Well don’t go getting cheap on me now Mr. ‘State of California’s most prolific bounty hunter’. I know you have the cash. Pony up this once and I’ll forgive everything you’ve put me through.” Hermes said, in a tone that made it clear he was only a little bit joking. Charon - who had resorted to picking his battles the longer he spent in Hermes’ company - turned back to the cashier and did as he was told, sour expression non-withstanding.

“Excellent, now if you’ll excuse me I’ll be right back!” He chirped, ducking into a nearby back-room to change into his purchases while the store owner was preoccupied with another customer. He slipped off the cuffs - merely a formality at this point with their new arrangement, and with the shims still in Hermes’ possession - happily stripping off his old, rather grimy clothes. He thought idly, for one beautiful second, about burning them, but shoved them back into the bag in the end, knowing a spare outfit would come in handy. He left his old boots into a corner of the storage room, for some unlucky employee to find later on.

Cuffs back in place and purchases in hand, Hermes slipped quickly out of the storage room once more. Sidling up behind Charon with a light tap on his lower back. “Well, How do I look? More presentable than I looked before?”He smiled smugly up at his companion, not ready to give fully give up on tormenting the man just yet.

The moment the bounty hunter had caught sight of him, his body had seemed to seize in tense in one sudden, waving spasm. Possibly choking on his own spit at the indecency of the many, generously undone buttons on his shirt. Hermes preened, leaning further into his space, not caring that they were in public. “Or perhaps I’ve become less presentable?” He asked, watching Charon’s eyes trail down his neck and dip into the gap left between the deep neckline of his shirt, and the silky, orange ascot that Hermes had laid in that open space, giving the outfit the barest excuse of modesty.

When Charon wrenched his eyes back towards Hermes’ face, every part of his expression communicating some uncertain despair. “Absolutely not presentable then?” Hermes determined, “Excellent; that’s exactly what I was going for!” He shoved the bag into Charon’s arms. Planning to wheedle Charon into buying them something to eat before heading back to their makeshift home base. Sadly, such plans barely made it out the front door of the shop unscathed.

Athena often employed various sub-groups to do her bidding for her. Cheap, extra muscle, not connected to the Olympian name when she needed someone roughed up and Ares or Artemis was unavailable. A group of such men lingered near the door of the store when they exited. Faces Hermes had seen in passing around her estate once or twice. He stuttered a half-step behind Charon, preparing to bolt; when a wide, grimy hand clasped across his shoulder, nails digging sharply into his skin.

“You Mr. Charon?” The Man behind him rumbled. The kind of ‘mean sumbitch’ affectation commonly heard in men with more machismo than sense. Two more men flanked them from either side, drawing around Charon and boxing them in. Hermes could see their hands lingering near their holsters.

Athena had always been fond of the dramatics, the one trait she seemed to share with Zeus. The question was a formality. Whoever the men were, they were most certainly here on her orders, and they weren’t really looking for an answer. Running on the blind, instinctual decision making that had saved his skin many times before, Hermes didn’t give Charon or her little posse any more time for additional dramatics. Jerking out of the mans grip and elbowing him right in the dick, _hard_.

Athena’s goon crumpled to the floor with a strangled scream, his compatriots looking on in stunned sympathy. Stunned sympathy that lasted a only handful of seconds, as Hermes leveled the pistol he had stolen out of the man’s holster while he’d been grandstanding. The other men hesitated for a second, unsure of this new development.

Hermes, having already made up his mind this morning did not hesitate. It would have been unaccountably rude to to let a professional associate be murdered in so unsporting a manner this early into their partnership.

Hermes pulled the trigger, blasting the man kneeling before him in the temple with one point-blank, unmissable shot. Splattering blood and bits of cranium everywhere as all hell broke loose.

He barely managed to keep a tight grip on the pistol in the resulting chaos, yanked up and into the store by the collar of his shirt, a hail of bullets whizzing past them. He and Charon crouched near the windowsill as the screaming started, bystanders panicking and running every which way.

 _In for a penny, in for a pound_. Hermes thought, giggling rather manically as the adrenaline started catching up to him. Watching Charon take out the first of the two remaining idiots with the business end of his long, wicked looking rifle. The force of the blast sent the man crumpling to the floor, slumped against one of the nearby displays, as more gunfire shattered the windows.

Hermes took a chance, waiting for an opening to peer over the now open window and pick off the last idiot. The good news being, he did, and the man collapsed next to the other body, too busy shooting wildly at them to dodge any kind of return fire. The bad news being, the gunfire did not stop, and it became clear that whatever idiots Athena had sent to collect him traveled in packs.

“Isn’t this an exciting outing!” Hermes did his best to be heard over the din, as Charon yanked him back behind the cover of the storefront with a thunderous scowl. “Out back?” He yelled, gesturing toward the rear of the store, where one of the few, unbroken windows sat behind the register.

They crawled towards towards that exit avoiding the bits of glass as best as they could when on their hands and knees. Hermes smashed the window with the butt of his pistol and was nearly halfway out the frame when he found himself hoisted up again, like a sack of potatoes. Shoved into the small back room with Charon.

“What are you doing we can-” He hissed, finding himself unceremoniously shushed by Charon’s hand pressing firmly over his mouth. The bounty hunter boxed them into a corner, gesturing for him to be quiet. Likely wanting to make the rest of their pursuers think they had escaped out the back. Hermes did not agree with that plan, squirming wildly until Charon was forced to hold him in place. One hand muffling his protests while the other curled tightly around his torso like a steel band. Pressing him back into Charon’s chest, leaving him little room to move unless he was ready to seriously hurt his new professional associate.

“This is stupid.” Hermes tried to say. Though it came out as an unintelligible buzzing noise, caught behind Charon’s hand. He kept up a halfhearted struggle. If they were going to be forced in a confrontation, he would much rather prefer it be in the open, instead of a cramped back room filled with barrels of molasses. Charon paid him no mind, straining to listen to the noise outside of the room, gunfire having died down.

Having quickly forgotten his earlier promises about making less stupid decisions, he licked a stripe across Charon’s palm, slathering it in saliva. Hoping he would be grossed out enough to move his hand, leaving Hermes free to give him a piece of his mind.

No such luck. Stupid decisions thrived in the cramped corner they had forced themselves into; as Charon kept his hand firmly over Hermes’ mouth and gave the chain on his cuffs another warning tug. It was soft, and did not hurt, especially when compared to the other times he had done so. Likely meant as a non-verbal gesture telling him to be quiet more than any real desire to harm.

The sexually deranged, crossed wires in Hermes’ mind did not get the same memo, and he bit back a whine, squirming for an entirely new reason. Charon, blissfully oblivious to the terrible, embarrassing situation he was creating, gave the chain a slightly harder yank. Urging him to be still. A cut off moan slipped out between Hermes’ clenched teeth, painfully audible even behind Charon’s hand.

Burning with mortification, and a few other emotions, he took advantage of Charon’s shock to yank the hand off of his mouth. “Touched that we’ve reached a stage of reciprocal harassment boss, but I’m going to have to ask you to stop doing that unless you want to have a _very_ uncomfortable conversation.” He hissed, forced to quiet when he heard the stomp of boots outside the back room.

Athena’s goons had finally entered the store, and were gathered around the back window. Loudly speculating as to where they could have gone. They waited with bated breath. Hermes all but buzzing with adrenaline, mortification, and an entirely misplaced, poorly timed hum of arousal.

It felt as if they crouched there for an eternity, until the remaining idiots determined they must have escaped without ever searching the premises. Helpfully narrating how many parties they would split into and where they would search for them next. Hopefully Athena wouldn't be too put out at some indiscriminate murders, considering the quality of help she had acquired in the first place.

Charon made them wait there for a few moments longer, before they slipped out and away. Awkward moment thankfully forgotten and overshadowed as they rushed to their camp, planning to backtrack to a new location from where they could contact Athena and ask her to call off her death squads without further interference.

It seemed forgotten enough by Charon at any rate, as he busied himself with avoiding their new adversaries.

Hermes had no such luck, plagued by anxiety about their current situation and memories of that unfortunate moment in the store. No longer tied, no longer cold and in possession of his own coat, excuses eluded him as much as sleep.

He spent another fitful night watching Charon, going over and over the same events in his mind, the way one might idly pick at a healing scab. The press of Charon’s hand on his mouth, the solid warmth of his chest behind Hermes. The complete lack of reaction to what had occurred since then. Perhaps the most damning proof that, whatever effect he had on Charon, the reactions he had been eliciting had been ones of discomfort or disgust and nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief note to say that: Pecadillo might take a brief break and skip the next weekly update. But if i have to do so dw it'll be back starting the 22nd. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhh boy, fruit suffering ahead, but only a lil bit?? 
> 
> Anyway hope ya'll are good :')
> 
> I promise i make it up to them both next chapter

Hermes couldn't sleep. He’s a rather commendable insomniac at the best of times, but the last couple of days have spurred him to revisit old, terrible feats of resilience. The hours blur together in an anxious rush of hiding and scurrying. Dodging the pack of idiots scrambling at their heels with the zeal of a dog gnawing on a bone. Trying desperately for an opening to send a message to his sister. He dozes on the saddle, jerking awake every couple of minutes. Staying up at night even when it’s not his turn to take watch; turning over worst case scenarios and past transgressions in his mind's eye. 

He’s on the run from more people than he’s ever had to dodge in his life. All for the world’s least sensible reason: Charon’s continued health and general existence. A man who was back to ignoring him on principle more than half of the time; now that he was done playing accidental mind games with Hermes’ libido. It is perhaps the singular lowest point of his entire week. Even when accounting for the nearly incomprehensible telegram he had sent to Athena yesterday, scrawled out in a haze in Charon’s borrowed notebook. A jerky, tired hand that the post-master had squinted out in confusion. 

ATHENA

CALL OFF INCOMPETENT DEATH SQUADS AS EARLY BDAY PRESENT TO ME

STRINGING HADES ALONG FOR MORE INFORMATION, WITH CHARON VOLUNTARILY AT THIS TIME

POP MESSED UP BIG TIME, CAN EXPLAIN IN LETTER

PLEASE STOP TRYING TO KILL ME WHILE I EXPLAIN

KISS GLAUKOPIS’ LITTLE HEAD FOR ME SO YOU CAN CALM DOWN

SEND REPLY TO REDDING TOWNSHIP, SANS DEATH SQUADS

LOVE, HERMES

“If we’re lucky, she really will love me enough to stop trying to kill us both.” He had said to a bored looking Charon. Trying for joking, and landing closer to deadpan; swaying on the saddle as they rode away from the last town. Desperate to put more distance between them and their pursuers. He had planned to wait on tenterhooks for one final night, knowing her response would come in the morning. Pushing close to twenty something consecutive hours with no rest. 

This wasn’t Hermes’ first, sleepless rodeo. If he was being excessively dramatic, he could have said that the last decade-or-so of his life had been nothing but an exhaustive marathon of running and hiding. Be it from the law, from certain sides of his family or from the multitude of problems that tended to arise when they were trying to scrape a living between bigger heists. He had put up with worse before, and - unless Hades fulfilled his newfound passion for seeing them all jailed - he would continue to do so for the foreseeable future. 

Life was a tiresome blur that he weathered on his own, with the occasional assistance from a sibling. Any newfound alliances - with prickly bounty hunters that had refused to look him in the eye since their last incident - had no reason to alter his usual modus operandi. 

Though it seemed Charon had other ideas about partnership. 

Hermes nearly jumped out of his skin when an unseen hand descended lightly upon his shoulder that night; halfway ready to tackle any would-be attacker in a stunning riposte. Which he might have attempted, if not for the troublesome way that his vision turned black when he tried to stand up in the first place. He stumbled into a nearby torso instead, feeling rather useless. 

His head spun wildly as Charon righted him gently, non-existent attackers nowhere in sight. 

“What?” Hermes mumbled. Putting a hand out to push away from his traveling companion, and leaning heavily against him until the vertigo subsided instead. Beneath him, the expanse of Charon’s chest shifted to let out a put-upon sigh before tapping Hermes twice on the shoulder - the same way he would nudge Boat’s flank to indicate their changing course - and began herding him towards the tent. 

“I’m not a horse,” Hermes reminded him sharply, letting himself be led like one regardless. More easily persuaded than he wanted to admit. “I’ll have you know I’m a grown man, and I can decide when to go to bed for myself.” The statement earned him an incredulous look, and a scoffing exhale. A cutting blow from his normally stoic companion. 

Hermes found himself shoved, rather indelicately, to the floor of the tent as their things were put away for the night. Future protests died off before they could take flight, stuck in his craw when Charon arranged the bedroll away from its usual location on his side of the tent.

“No,” He blurted out without thinking, feeling a nauseating riot of butterflies start up in his stomach at the idea of sharing a space so closely with someone who did not want him there. “I’m not wedging myself in there with you again, you can’t make me.” He scrambled backwards, the closed confines of their shared space feeling much too small all of a sudden. 

It was Charon’s turn on the dramatics, as he rolled his eyes; gesturing jerkily to the open bedroll and settling down in his usual corner with a huff. The now bare floor of the tent, devoid of his usual sleeping arrangements. “No,” Hermes repeated petulantly, with more stubbornness than sense. 

Not one to back down easily, Charon held out his hand; as if asking for Hermes’ palm so he could trace a message onto it. Hermes instinctively provided his without thinking about it, ready to continue their argument no matter the medium. Not prepared for Charon to jerk him forward with a rough yank. Sending him sprawling onto the ground, his fall cushioned by the now-free bedroll, thoughtfully laid out on his side of the tent.

The resentful tension he had been living under for the last couple of days died an ignoble death, snapping under its own weight. Hermes frantically shoved the piece of unwanted charity back to its rightful place, practically throwing the bedroll back in Charon’s face. Fueled by the righteously indignant, manic energy of an incredibly incensed person running on too little sleep.

“Stop giving me things'' Hermes bit out, tired of bouncing between Charon’s apathy to Charon’s worry and concern. “You got what you wanted, boss. I’m one hundred percent committed towards our joint scheme and I don’t need anymore buttering up. You can happily go back to whatever you would rather be doing now that I’ve decided getting Persephone back is my easiest way out of this mess. What Hades won't know won’t hurt him.”

“You can go back to ignoring me.” The words slipped out before Hermes could think better of it. Sounding more pathetic when said aloud than they ever had in the safety of his own thoughts. They lingered, as if a bitter taste, in the back of his throat. His shamelessness had evaporated somewhere between here and the general-store back room, leaving him stuck in an anxious loop of over thinking. Wishing for the return of Charon’s attention, for their easy - if slightly antagonistic - camaraderie. Then growing increasingly frustrated with himself when the desire stuck around like a restless itch, past the point of all good sense, taking up most of his thoughts.

Charon looked away, the guilty bent of his head quelling the hot, angry feeling in Hermes’ chest. The urge to fight ebbed away alongside it, little by little, in the silence between them. Hermes rubbed a tired hand over his closed eyes, the lingering headache of the past three days throbbing idly behind the left socket. When he opened them again, Charon’s hand was held out once more, palm out and waiting. 

“Oh no, I’m not falling for that twice.” He scoffed. 

Charon beckoned insistently once again, urging Hermes closer. That little, starving part of him that had come to enjoy the bounty hunter’s attention a little too much reared his head. Making its insistent presence known. Grumbling, closer Hermes went, making a show out of his false distrust. 

As soon as it was available, Charon traced S-L-E-E-P into his hand. 

“I’m not tired,” Hermes insisted. Lying blatantly but with confidence, knowing he could eke out one more night until Athena could confirm she would hear them out. Charon scowled at him, raking over his rather disheveled state with a scornful eye. 

“Why do you care?” Hermes snapped, feeling the little bubbling frustration at the hot and cold treatment crop back up. “You’ve been ignoring me for most of this week boss. What’s it to you if I’m too keyed up to sleep?” 

Hermes could see Charon’s grimace even in the darkness of the tent, the wry, self effacing twist of his mouth. 

“What, are you that embarrassed about what happened when we had our first run in with these idiots? May I remind you, if anyone’s entitled to feeling slighted for the virginal sanctity of their anything, that person is me.” Hermes shoved at his shoulder, hard. Insultingly, it didn’t move the man the slightest bit. Charon merely ducked his head again, the ever present hat - something he only seemed to take off to sleep and to bathe - obscuring the view of his face. 

It dawned on Hermes then, that he seemed to have unknowingly hit the jackpot. For the last couple of days his thoughts rounded on each other in obsessive circles, like a dog chasing its tail. Wondering at Charon’s new distant attitude, how he had seemed to make a concerned effort to be as far away from him at all points in time. As if he were disgusted or annoyed. 

The last puzzle piece clicked into place, as Hermes recalled the avoidant attitudes he had encountered in the past. When he had pushed too much or strayed too far into his personal space. Charon had fallen into one of his odd fits of sullenness not out of offense, but out of something closer embarrassment. Due to the unfortunate reveal of what kind of effects he had been unknowingly cultivating with Hermes and the handcuffs in that dark, cramped space. Hermes, caught up in the press of their other, larger problems, hadn’t put the pieces together until just now. 

“Unbelievable,” Giddiness and frustration raced around Hermes’ breast, as he took in the incredibly awkward sight before him. Charon seemed to retreat further into his hat, hoping in vain to avoid further scrutiny. “You useless lump of a man. You let me think I’d gravely offended you in some way, when in reality, you’d sent yourself into some sort of prudish catatonia.” He hit Charon again for good measure, a gentle punch against his shoulder that the other took without complaint.

Lingering questions about Charon’s odd behavior satisfied, Hermes grabbed the bedroll that still lay crumpled between them, offering it back to its rightful owner. “Glad as I am that this isn’t some obscure power move, I still don’t need this.” 

Charon shook his head once more, pushing it back towards Hermes. The warm weight of his fingers circling around his wrist in an effort to stop him from shoving it forward once more. A different kind of handcuff, but no less effective. 

“I won't sleep even if I use this Boss. It’s just gonna go to waste.” He pointed out, well acquainted with his own habits. Hermes wouldn't be able to fully relax until he had received confirmation from Athena, whatever sleep he could get that night wasn’t bound to be particularly restful. 

Charon’s free hand flicked Hermes’ forehead again. A gentle, chastising tap. The fingers on wrist brushed lightly against his skin, a soft, instinctual motion that Charon himself did not seem aware of. Hermes’ resolve crumbled, the strong foundations of his resentment having collapsed once their misunderstanding had been solved. “I’m still mad at you, for acting like that instead of just being a grown man about it.” he said, drawing back and setting up the bedroll closer to his side of the tent. “But if it means that much to you, fine.”

Having gotten his way, Charon settled down for the evening on his own side. Leaving Hermes to toss and turn, even in the comfort of his new accommodations. 

Hermes stayed awake like that well into the night. He had reached that penultimate hour, where restlessness and exhaustion collided in his brain into a primordial soup of bad decisions. He slunk over to Charon’s side then, having decided, on second thought, that his misery did want company. Nudging him awake until that scarred face had blinked muzzily up at him, getting a taste of its own medicine at last. 

“I’m cold,” He lied, tugging a pliant Charon into the folds of his own bedroll. Wanting to indulge in the luxury of touch one last time, now that he knew it wasn’t his presence that Charon had scorned. He melted against the body pressed close to his, treating himself to one last bit of that which he couldn’t have in celebration. He slipped into fitful sleep eventually, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of Charon’s breath beneath his hand. 

When they untangled the next morning, it was without fanfare. Charon extricated himself from Hermes’ grip as if he had done the same thing every day, since time immemorial. Going about his usual routine like nothing had changed. Hermes carefully ignored how this made him feel, enjoying the sensation of being in brighter spirits for the first time in days, regardless of cause. The morning had even dared to try and provide Hermes additional hope for things looking up. Athena’s blessed, if curt reply waiting for them in town. 

AS YOU WELL KNOW, GLAUKOPIS DOES NOT APPRECIATE SUCH AFFECTION

STOP SUGGESTING IT

ONE CHANCE TO EXPLAIN. 

ANSWER CORRECTLY TO PROVE THIS IS HERMES: WHO DESERVES THE APPLE?

“Oh absolutely not,” He had muttered, waving the paper at Charon. “Do you see that? That’s a trap if I’ve ever known one. Remind me to tell you the apple story one day. It’s a terror of an event boss. I also want you to know that she’s a terrible liar, Glaukopis is the most spoiled being alive. I’ve caught her doting on him like that once or twice.” 

Charon - done ignoring him once Hemes had trampled all over the lingering awkwardness of the situation with his usual grace - looked blankly back at him, still lost in the tangle of Hermes’ words. 

“Her owl,” He explained, missing the incredulous raise of Charon’s brow as he scanned through his answering message once more. “Come look this part over for me, I’m sure you can fill in whatever gaps Hades omitted in his recount of the situation.” Hermes ushered Charon closer, tugging on his sleeve until they were both hunched over his letter. Missing the odd looks they garnered from the other patrons at the post office, at how easily Hermes - back to wearing the handcuffs, looking for all the world like some unfortunate prisoner - shuffled his jailer from place to place to his liking. 

Charon’s extra pair of eyes had loomed over Hermes shoulder, as he filled Athena in on their current situation punctuating his missive with a sufficiently Hermes-ian postscript to soothe her paranoid mind. 

_PS - I’m not foolish enough to try and answer that question. I remember what happened last time._

_PPS - I know for a fact Glaukopis loves to receive all manner of kisses, which you dispense in secret. Please give him one from me when this letter reaches you._

_Love, Hermes_

He had signed the letter with a flourish, stuffing the many pages into a too small envelope. The gist of the situation being too delicate to be forced into the limitations of a telegram. 

By the time they had made their way back to their camp, it was to the welcome warmth of early evening. Hermes’ tenuous hopes not yet dashed, cautiously optimistic about their plans. A good indication as any - considering his recent streak of bad luck - that it would all promptly go to shit. 

They had only just dismounted, and safely tethered Boat to a nearby tree when they both sensed something was wrong. The noises of nature too still and quiet around them, no birds singing, no small animals scurrying through the underbrush. 

Hermes had never been particularly combat oriented - such tasks were better left to Ares and Artemis - but he made up for that with a particularly impeccable sense of speed and timing that had saved his hide more than once. He moved without thinking, a half-step before anyone else. Tackling the large black blur that had been coming for Charon’s horse, jaws open and snarling. 

They went down in a tangle of limbs and fur. Hermes managed to wedge the short chain that linked his handcuffs into the dogs open mouth. The hot breath of its slobbering maw hung above him, while the cuffs at his wrists dug down painfully into his skin, compressed by force of its teeth. A few centimeters of metal the only thing that stood between his throat and those snarling jaws. White flecks of foam gathered at the corners of the dog’s mouth, frothing with rage. Filled with single minded intent to bite down on the first thing it had seen and determined to do it with as much force as possible. 

Hermes strained for leverage, trying to keep the animal away from his face, terror clawing at his throat. Thankful that the dog was one of her smaller ones. Even in his panic, he knew that hound, and knew that it’s owner would not be far behind. “ARTEMIS!” He yelled, chest heaving with the effort to scream as loudly as possible and keep the dog from tearing out his neck.

 _“Artemis_!” Hermes’ hands shook, losing his grip on the hound. Barely able to hold the beast at bay when Charon came in from the left. Swinging the butt of his rifle hard enough to send the dog sailing back into the underbrush, limp as a rag doll. Hermes barely felt the dull sting of pain, as the force of the impact scraped painfully against what was left of the handcuffs, scrambling to recoup before the dog returned. 

Charon quickly stepped in front of him, rifle set against his shoulder as a sharp whistle split the air; echoing loudly in the clearing of their camp. Artemis materialized, as if appearing from the forest itself, casually stepping out from behind a tree. Arrow nocked and aimed at Charon’s head. The black hound returned, limping back towards its master. Stepping into her shadow, awaiting further instruction. “Hermes,” She said curtly, motioning for him to come closer with an imperceptible tilt of her head. 

Hermes moved to slap the rifle out of Charon’s hand instead, putting his body between Charon and Artemis. In the symbolic line of fire, knowing her aim was deadly enough that she would not miss him if she chose to shoot, whether Hermes was in the way or not. 

“Put that down, put that down right now!” He said, rather shrilly, knowing Artemis was not the most patient of his siblings. “It’s not what you think I can explain, I’ve been talking to Athena!” Her bow dipped just a fraction lower.

“I promise I can explain, just please,” Hermes wrenched the scope of Charon’s rifle towards the ground. Charon’s grip fighting him every step of the way, but eventually acquiescing. “Just put that down so we can talk, Artemis.” 

The furrow between Artemis’ brow grew deeper, her eyes jumping from Hermes to Charon, until - with a noise of disgust - she relaxed the string of her weapon. Relief had barely begun to wash over Hermes, when panic slammed into him once again, with all the delicacy of a freight train.

The sharp sudden noise of a bullet rushed past his ears, A stray shot going wide that clipped the skin at Charon’s shoulder, thankfully missing the rest of him. Expecting more gunfire, Hermes tackled Charon with enough force that he crumpled to the ground. Scrambling to cover the bounty hunter’s body with his own. 

Nothing else came, except a shrill and distant ‘ _FUCK’_ from beyond Artemis. Aphrodite storming out from behind her cover, a look of rage twisting her pretty features into an unrecognizable mask, a pistol clutched in her hand. “Hermes, move!” She snapped, stalking towards them with deadly intent. 

“No, no, no!” Hermes continued yelling in increasing tempo and volume, the words blurring together into one unidentifiable noise of protest. He pushed Charon back down when he tried to rise again, knowing that he couldn’t release him for one singular second, lest disaster strike. 

Their unlikely savior came in the form of Artemis, grabbing a hold of Aphrodite’s arm, effectively stopping her death march in its tracks. “What is going on Hermes?” She asked, the terse tone of her voice letting Hermes know that he had exactly one chance, and that he best not squander it. 

“I’m here because I want to be, I _swear_. Whatever Pop told the rest of you, it’s a lot more complicated than that.” He spat the words out in a rush, knowing he only had a few, precious seconds to de-escalate the situation. “Just don’t shoot at Charon, I’ll explain everything.”

The crease between Artemis’ brows grew deeper. Artemis - who had perfected the art of hunting her quarry aground over the years, be it human or animal - scented weakness the way a baying hound might scent blood. Her cool, calculating gaze sweeping over the way Hermes was still draped protectively over Charon. Doing his best to block him from harm despite their comically mis-matched sizes rendering the exercise nearly pointless. “What does it matter to you if he lives or dies; it’s just one less problem for us all isn't it?” 

“I’m trying to play both sides, just _THINK_ for a second, he’s not the problem here. It’s Pop and Hades! Like I said, I can explain, as soon as you both calm down.” Charon twitched beneath Hermes, but stayed blessedly still at last. Finally understanding that the odds were much better for him with Hermes as a human shield for the time being. 

Aphrodite wrenched away from Artemis’ grasp, sputtering like a hissing cat. “I don’t care what the situation is!” She shrieked, stalking towards them with a manic glint in her eye. “I want this big, ugly bastard dead whether it benefits anyone or not!”

“Look at what he did to my hair,” She hissed, flinging her perfectly coiffed tresses over her shoulder. A large chunk was missing from one of the ends. A jagged gap in her otherwise fashionable hairstyle. 

Hermes couldn’t even laugh at the picture she painted before him, running on high and desperate panic. “Sis, _please_.” He pleaded, packing all that he could into that one word. He held eye contact with Aphrodite, trying to say all that would take too long to explain in just one look. Those silent styles of communication that had served them well when they worked together, scamming the rich and wealthy. 

Reluctantly, Aphrodite backed down, a sinister scowl still twisting her face, but no longer advancing. “Talk.” She snapped, a level of menace in her voice that even Ares would have been proud of. 

Hermes talked. The whole sordid tale spilled from his lips in bits and pieces. Refusing to move from atop Charon until they had both put their weapons away.

They spoke long into the evening, until it was nearly night. Having poked and prodded at every scrap of information both he and Charon possessed. 

“You’re sure Athena knows about this?” Artemis asked, still standing a healthy distance away from Charon, despite the repeated insistence that he didn’t care to capture any more Olympians at the moment.

“She will, I sent her a letter. She’ll know everything as soon as it gets there.” Hermes said, bouncing his leg out of nervous habit, still casting paranoid glances at Artemis’ dog. Which sat demurely at her feet; a far cry from the snarling creature that had champed at the bit to get it’s teeth around Hermes’ neck. 

“I’d say I can’t believe this, but I definitely can. It would be just like father to cock things up monumentally and not tell a single soul to try and save face.” Aphrodite fluttered her fan delicately, as if she could wave away the mess Zeus had made. She had procured it from one of the hidden pockets in her stylish dress and had spent the last couple of minutes pulling faces, fanning herself vigorously. As if she were offended by some non existent stench emanating from Charon. 

Those two had spent the majority of their time shooting glares at each other that, if looks could kill, would have left them cold in the ground. Hermes silently pledged to get Artemis something nice, an early birthday present, as soon as everything was over. For running the other half of the interference. Keeping Aphrodite confined and not letting her re-escalate the situation, as Hermes did the same with Charon. 

“Either way, it’s our mess now. We should tell the others.” She grabbed hold of Aphrodite’s elbow, slowly dragging her towards where their own mounts had been situated, hidden for their ambush. “Ares was helping us track you not far from here. We should find him and bring him back, before he finds you first.” 

A chill ran up Hermes’ spine, at the idea of Ares ‘finding them first’ in any capacity. 

“Certainly. I would appreciate that sis. Almost as much as I appreciate you not bringing the big one.” He gestured jerkily to Artemis’ hound, obediently trotting at her heels. 

Artemis huffed, looking quite put out at their good fortune. “She strained her hamstring. This one’s my backup.” 

Hermes was well acquainted with her preferred tracker. The albino beast that had reminded him of Charon in that first encounter. A hulking mass of a dog that he was certain he would not have been able to hold back from tearing out whatever chunks of him it desired to take. 

Artemis corralled Aphrodite onto her own horse, breaking the intense staring contest she and Charon had engaged in while unsupervised. “We’ll be right back. Stay put until we can find him.”

“Sure thing,” Hermes chirped, waving as they rode away. 

Waiting until they had been swallowed up by the dense throng of trees to start rapidly packing their things. “Move, move, move,” He chanted at Charon, who only waited a moment before catching onto his plan. They packed the tent in record time. Pushing Boat into a gallop as soon as they were both in the saddle. Going as quickly as they could, in the direction opposite to where Aphrodite and Artemis had headed. 

Hermes held back his growing thread of panic for as long as he could. He clutched at the saddle horn with white knuckled hands. Feeling an invisible band tightening around his chest growing with each passing moment until he was gasping for air. “Stop,” He wheezed, clutching at Charon’s leg. Hoping they had made it far enough. “Stop, stop, stopstopstop.”

He dismounted before Boat was had finished slowing down. Hitting the ground in a stumbling roll that left him kneeling in the ground on all fours. Hermes fought back the urge to puke; his skin feeling too hot and too tight. Sucking in deep inhales through clenched teeth, but still feeling short of breath. The world spun around him, feeling too big and too small all at once. Too much. Everything was too much. 

The panic he had been procrastinating while Artemis and Aphrodite had been around hitting him in full force.

He felt distantly - as if it were happening to another person - Charon gathering him up. Setting him somewhere off to the side of the road in a sitting position, head between his knees, hovering anxiously around him as Hermes struggled to keep breathing.

“Why,” He wheezed viciously, as soon as he had calmed enough to speak. “Why does all of this have to happen to me in the first place? Why did my deadbeat of a father have to get us all mixed up in this in the first place?”

“Why,” He continued with increasing fervor “did you have to pick me; of all my siblings to use as your horrid little chess piece in Hades’ game?” 

“Why,” Hermes, grabbed Charon’s forearm in as tight a grip as he could manage. Feeling off kilter, at the end of his rope, unable to hold back his frustrated tears. “Why did I make things a million times more complicated by keeping you around and not letting one of my siblings blow your head into a gory paste?”

“Why are you still being nice to me?” He continued, unable to stem the tide, now that he had started his rant. All the little insecurities he had shoved into the secret box in his mind spilling out between them. Hermes forced down a hiccup, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face, knowing that he looked a mess. 

“You got what you wanted, you don’t need to tolerate everything I do anymore. That’s what you were doing wasn’t it, even if you didn’t know.” He felt his face twist into an ugly grimace, Charon looking on impassively, as he made a fool of himself. “I’ve done what you did, I was _trying_ to do what you did!” Hermes had learned that lesson with Aphrodite early on, everyone wanted something. 

Charon wanted a clean way out of this mess, for Persephone to return to Hades so he would no longer need to chase the Olympians down to the very ends of the earth. A thankless task he had been engaged in for months now, until he had lucked out with Hermes. 

At the start, Hermes had wanted a simple solution to his issue, that did not have any ill befall on him or any of his siblings. Caught in the crossfire of their family’s dramatic antics. He wanted that still. But wanted more alongside it. Having played with the flame long enough to get burned. 

Charon wordlessly pried his forearm out of Hermes’ death grip. Uncurling his fingers one by one, holding his limp hand even after the deed was done. He opened his coat, and tucked Hermes against his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

Hermes squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face into Charon’s side. That last, little bit of resistance in his heart breaking when he felt Charon’s hand carding gently through his hair. Petting his head in soft strokes. Earnest, if awkward comfort offered; even when Charon could not offer much else.

He sniffled, winding down little by little; matching his breath with Charon’s until it was regulated again, the band around his chest receding. 

Aphrodite’s words echoed like a mantra around his head. He could even recall how her face had looked when she had imparted that piece of advice perfectly. Her pretty, solemn features floated in his mind's eye mockingly. ‘ _You only need to find whatever it is that someone feels is missing from their life. If you fill that void, people will give you anything.’_

Her perfectly rouged lips had curled into a smile, knowing the whims of the human heart better than anyone. 

Hermes buried his face deeper into Charon’s coat, into Charon. Into the earthy smell of citronella that hung around him like a second skin. _It does work._ He thought to himself despondently, heart clenching tightly in his chest. But still not moving away. That void within him that had yearned after kind attention for longer than he could admit finally filled. 

_I’m so stupid. And it works._


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yall, uhh, get ready for the few remaining bits of taste in this fic to evaporate completely. we're fully in the garbage now.

The best thing about running away, was that moment when you hit the peak of your stride, knowing no one could catch you. Hermes had chased that high more times that he could comfortably admit. Craving that feeling, like flying, of pushing his body to the limit and watching everything else fall away; colorful streaks against a distant horizon.

The majority of Hermes’ life had been defined by his ability to stay one step ahead of his pursuers; a committed criminal before the age ten. Zeus having taught him how to stumble into rich gentlemen just so - in order to spirit away their pocket watches, chain and all - before he had ever fully learned his sums.

Years of repetition had drilled into his head a Pavlovian certainty for that risk and reward. The thrill of the chase and the ecstasy of escape. Praise for a job well done, when he still cared for attention from his father; the smug certainty of getting his way once again, when he had outgrown that initial motivation.

Things would have been much simpler, if the elation of running away was limited to the physical. But there was that psychological element at play. The urge to scratch that itch once again, the appeal of that whole ‘out of sight out of mind’. Like a cornered animal, when faced with hardship, Hermes bolted. Trusting nothing except his own instincts to see him out safely.

He knew his sisters would understand, once they had worked through their frustration that he had done this once again. Hermes wasn't sure if the situation was made worse or better by the fact that this wasn’t a new feat by any means.

Not his proudest of moments, but he had been known to vanish mid-conversation if things ever got particularly heated. Knowing that with some family members, it was easier to ask for forgiveness than beg for permission. If any situation merited the application of that tactic once again, it would surely be this one.

There hadn’t been _one_ particular reason he’d flown from the proverbial coop once they left him unsupervised. It was a gaggle of small annoyances which had coagulated into a larger desire. There was Charon to worry about, even though he was quite certain they wouldn’t have harmed him in the end. A niggling and persistent concern, despite not being all that logical.

More insistent was his reluctance to sit through one more second of having to mind him and Aphrodite. Who seemed determined to tear chunks out of each other the moment they were left unattended. The kind of situation that would have required constant vigilance to prevent more melodrama. Leaving him high strung and snappish with the effort of mediating between two mutually antagonistic parties.

But before anything else, there had been the simple desire to not be in that situation any longer. To fly far and fast until he could get himself together and face his family once again. Ready to deal with the mess his father had made.

Driven by that singular urge, regardless of source, he had spurred Charon and his mount further and faster. No destination in mind other than somewhere far away from those sources of stress. The bounty hunter had acquiesced with no resistance, presumably happy to be as far away from Aphrodite as possible.

They rode until it was well into night. Testing the limits of Boat’s endurance, stopping only out of concern for her stamina.

It was only then, when dismounting to remove the additional burden of their weight from her back, that Hermes looked around and saw their surroundings. Absorbing the sights, instead of letting them fly past in the corners of his vision.

A forest of Redwoods, towering so high above them that it paused even his restless mind, for a moment of pure wonder. Charon continued forward, unflappable, looking for a suitable location to bed down for the night. Hermes trudging on behind him, still silent.

Worry thrummed at the back of his mind, but distantly, curiosity almost eclipsing it whole. He walked with his head tilted back, hand on Boat’s stirrup to keep him from stumbling. Fascinated, not by the blanket of stars he could see on that night, but by the tops of the trees stretching up alongside them, taller than a mountain.

He followed Charon without thinking, and stopped when he did so, without bothering for more direction. Letting his new associate go about the task of setting up their tent on his own, as he always did, a carry over from those days Hermes had been bound without reprieve. He wandered away the moment they had paused, eager for a closer look at those giants that surrounded them.

Hermes found their bark rough, and irregular; the deep wrinkles and divots of their trunk wide enough to fit his body neatly between them. His worries melted away for a moment, problems seeming as pleasantly small as he was; when placed next to the gargantuan width of so tall a tree. Their tops faintly illuminated by the heavens they reached up towards. He felt, for a moment, the silly urge to reach up alongside them too. Stretch his arms towards the sky and try to touch the impossible. All those things that lay out of his scope, physical and metaphorical stars.

He walked back towards Charon only when he had a campfire going. Shaken out of his musings by the prospect of a welcome source of warmth.

The man himself was already busying himself with a new task. Going through the usual evening routine of preparing food for the both of them. Something he still did, without stopping to question, even when Hermes had been allowed to walk freely about their camp. He watched Charon, with an odd flip in his stomach, continue to do things for him, long after they were needed.

The careful application of preserves on toast, dried meat and fruits set alongside it on the plate of his mess kit. Handed over to Hermes without any expectation

After mumbling his thanks, Hermes ate with his head down, pointedly looking away from the face of his accidental tormentor. Away from those gaunt features cast in shadow, but softened by familiarity. Away from the small spot of preserves that stuck to the corner of Charon’s mouth before being quickly wiped off.

But not quick enough to prevent the rise of an irrational urge, deep in Hermes’ chest; to wipe it away himself, perhaps with his own mouth. The mingling of two sweet tastes.

He chewed mechanically, trying to cast his thoughts towards anything other than that rising fondness he had failed so spectacularly to suppress. He found no success, knowing it had tumbled headfirst into some deeper, unfortunate emotion after that last bit of kindness. The straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Thank you, by the way.” He said, forcing the words out when he had swallowed the last of his food, past the odd lump in his throat.

“For going along with the, uh, leaving, after my sisters.” He started, filled with a sudden, burning urge to explain himself. Rationalize that explosive build up of stress and uncertainty. He struggled for words, dozens of lies ready to trip off his tongue, none of them the right choice.

Charon drew him out of his head with another chastising flick, a little jolt against the side of his temple. Not hard enough to hurt, but sharp enough to feel. He shook his head, looking at Hermes with something dangerously close to pleasant emotion.

“What, you don’t even want an explanation?” He scoffed, watching Charon give a quick shrug. Presumably content to leave Hermes’ family in the dust without any reason. Happy as long as he was away from them in the first place.

Hermes laughed despite himself, that ever present curl of fondness burrowing deep into his soul; fat and happy as a leech on a juicy vein. “For someone who’s kind of uptight about most things you’re being surprisingly laissez-faire about this one, boss.”

He looked deep into the flames of their campfire, casting about his heart for the right explanation, and finding within the urge for confession. “I’m not really good at…stress.” He said haltingly, his normally quick clip slowing to a veritable crawl. “I’ll run away if something ever gets to be a little too much. Habit I guess.” He cast about for a disarming smile, and almost managed it. “It’s what makes me so good at my job.”

Charon snorted, loud as a bull, clearly having some thoughts on the subject.

“Hey, cut me some slack would you? I may not be gainfully employed but I’m usually not that terrible a thief, or escape artist.” He tossed a little pebble at Charon’s lap. Watching it bounce harmlessly off his pant leg. “You just caught me under some very specific circumstances my good Associate. If it wasn’t for this whole Hades thing I would have ditched you already.”

“I’ve gotten out of 14 jail cells,” Hermes crowed, and if it was a little too smug, well, he deserved it. Several of their more ambitious robberies had involved him slipping out of police custody. Captured by design in order to let the rest of their party get away safely, with him as the decoy.

He flicked Charon’s knee, a mirror of the man’s earlier actions. His associate’s silent indicator that Hermes was being a bit of a nuisance in one way or another. A habit he had taken to with much enthusiasm, for the slightest annoyance. Hermes had swatted those hands away from his forehead more than once since they had started traveling. It had become a needling shorthand between them, another pre-packaged excuse that let him dip into Charon’s space.

“I’m completely serious, face it my dear partner in crime, you got lucky. I’ve been an old hand at this for a while now. My first time breaking out of handcuffs was at age twelve.” He prattled on, tracing little lines onto the earth and ashes spread out before their campfire; for no other reason than the desire to keep his hands occupied. “Granted you’re probably thinking of what a twelve year old could do to get arrested. I’ll have to omit the details out of professional courtesy, but I can say involved a rather priceless painting I stuffed down my pant leg. Which, if I may add, those simpletons never discovered. Made off with it as soon as I removed the cuffs.”

He shot Charon a cocky smile, that dwindled and died at the odd look he wore, carving new lines into that stern face. “It’s funnier than it sounds,” He promised hastily, not liking that look at all, feeling a bit too much like an ant under a magnifying glass. “We used to get up to stuff like that all the time. Especially me and Aphrodite. I know you don’t seem to like her much, but Pop put us to work together a lot.”

He continued to ramble, unable to stem the flow of words, even when they weren’t particularly helping his case. “We’ve had all kinds of trouble. There was this one time when she was eighteen and I was fourteen, and we were set to ah, _liberate_ some gold bars from the safe of some poor sods house. Now, don’t start feeling bad for him, he had a huge estate and no compunctions about taking teenage girls as mistresses.”

“I crawl in through the window right, sneak my way down into some sort of cellar until Aphrodite can come lead me to the safe, once this paragon of marital bliss is asleep. Except that, of course, this man’s wife comes home earlier than expected, and she has to rush out. But-” He punctuates the next part of his story with a wave.

“I’m still stuck in the cellar right, because the maid’s come and latched the door. Long story short, I was stuck there for about a day and a half. Ate an entire tin of crackers and robbed their kitchen once I got out, because I was absolutely starving by then.”

“That’s not the funny part, the real comedy was hearing the hellish argument that this man had with his wife. Because, and get this, Aphrodite had forgotten some of her things in the rush to leave. So the wife came home and saw Aphrodite’s false dick, sitting on the middle of the bed, since she’d convinced this man to take it up the ass.” Hermes said the last part with relish, hoping to make Charon squirm with embarrassment, if not with laughter.

He found a gentle hand laid on his shoulder instead, the odd look in Charon’s face finally present enough to be puzzled out. Something close to pity, and a stone’s throw from concern. Hermes instantly knew why and what part of the story from his rather adventurous youth Charon was fixating on.

“No, don’t give me that look.” He pleaded, trying for joking and finding that his voice wasn’t up to par. Small and thin under the pressure of pretending, under Charon’s careful attention. “Stuff like that just happens when you work those kind of jobs. I started young but, don’t we all? I promise I only ended up starving by accident a very small percentage of the time.”

Charon’s look of concern folded back into a thunderous scowl, making his opinions on that subject very clear.

Hermes, rather frazzled by the turn his day had taken, and still reeling from his earlier breakdown, tried to deflect with humor out of pure reflex. “I think you’re the only person who’s ever really shown that much concern for Pop’s labor practices, Boss.” He tried weakly, finding that it only led him further down the rather sad rabbit-hole of his unorthodox childhood.

“Careful now, this much concern for my health and I’ll start thinking we’re actually the best of friends.” He couldn’t help but laugh, dry and humorless at the realization. “Though, if you’ll pardon my honesty, just this once-”

Words stuck to his throat, finding truth a bit of a bitter pill to swallow. The rush of confession wringing them out of him in the end.

“You probably are the closest thing to a friend I’ve had in a while. Sad isn’t it? I don’t think you even like me half the time, and you’ve still stolen the top spot.”

He quickly waved away that little dip into brutal honesty, keen to steer the topic into safer waters before he blurted out something even more pathetic and desperate. “I’ll have you know that you have a fierce contender however. Previous champions include my pet snapping turtle, and she’s got a mean bite boss, I think she can take you.”

He dug his elbow into Charon’s ribs, having wormed his way closer and closer to his side throughout their conversation. Charon shot him a look, one that Hermes found he understood perfectly, even without words. That fond exasperation that meant he wasn’t buying anything leaving Hermes’ mouth. But was content to let him keep spinning yarns for the rest of the night anyway.

Hermes prattled on, for the rest of the evening, all the way into the tent as they finally prepared to succumb to exhaustion.

It should have been simple, the mere physical act of dressing down, removing unnecessary layers, laying back and closing one’s eyes. But Hermes’ chatter died off, unable to fill the silence or move forward.

Charon had moved the bedroll towards his side of the tent again.

“Ah, no Boss, I’m afraid I can’t take that this time. My family’s put you through enough for today.” He grimaced, thinking of the graze that still marred Charon’s shoulder. Bandaged hastily so they could continue their flight. “You should at least get a good night’s sleep out of all this mess.”

Charon didn’t bother with the pretense of argument. Casting a critical look over Hermes; dark circles under his eyes, hair in a messy tangle. Carrying that faint, intangible aura of misery that marred someone’s face after they’d had a good cry.

“I can’t,” he insisted.

The harsh set of Charon’s mouth was answer enough. If their last argument had proved anything, it was that the man was in no way above using his size and weight to the advantage. On a good day, Charon was immovable as an Ox, and twice as obstinate. Hermes could feel the fight ebbing out of him, as slowly and inevitably as a sinking boat.

“Well,” Hermes cast about hesitantly, ready to blame his exhaustion for yet another rash of poor choices. “If you’re still that hung up on it. We could share.” He tried to say the words dispassionately, confidently and with ease. Like his palms weren’t sweating at the mere thought of it.

Charon scrutinized him for one long, agonizing second. His eyes dipping down for a moment to track the way Hermes fidgeted in the silence, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed his nerves. Until finally, with a long exhale that could double for a sigh, Charon finished removing his unnecessary layers. Putting the ever-present hat down in a corner of the tent before sliding into the bedroll, corner left untucked, leaving as much space as possible for Hermes.

Hermes removed his boots, and his ascot, sliding into the bedroll pressed against Charon, side to side. Trying desperately to keep his thoughts perfectly blank. Feeling like he could vibrate out of his skin at any moment. All the tiredness having left his body the moment he saw his offer had been accepted.

He laid there, doing his best to avoid all contact, until he was hit by the ridiculousness of such a situation. Feeling a similar tenseness from Charon, also wide awake. “This is stupid,” Hermes huffed, gathering the remains of his old, impulsive courage and rolling up and over. Onto Charon’s side of their sleeping arrangements. Onto Charon, to be more precise. Fighting a little with the covers until he could slide into the space between his long, spindly legs. Folding his hands atop Charon’s chest, gently resting his chin above them, careful to avoid putting too much weight onto his ribs.

“I think we can both swallow our pride and admit to previous instances of scandalous cuddling.” He said solemnly, enjoying how odd Charon looked from this angle. How the body beneath him twitched and tensed in parts. As if it had decided it should be bothered by their position, but was unable to commit. Having long grown comfortable with Hermes’ invasive presence.

“I won’t tell if you won’t. You’ll be perfectly free of any black marks on your fearsome record, Mr. Famous Bounty Hunter.” Charon’s eyes stared down at him, inscrutable in the half-lit darkness of the tent. Hermes feels before he sees that hand curl around his shoulder. Pressed against his shoulder blade, poised to push him away, but finding itself unable to do so.

If Hermes were a praying man, he might pray that Charon can’t feel the way that his heart picks up speed against that gentle touch, working double time. As it is, he just shifts, leaning on his elbows to better loom above him, watching those hints of emotion play across Charon’s face. The slight grimace that threatens the dip of his mouth.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Hermes asks, not brave enough to make it higher than a mumbled whisper. Barely able to give voice to that thought that had run around in the back of his mind, ever since Charon had started to grudgingly put up with the repeated forays into his personal space.

Charon shakes his head slightly, the kind of look on his face that means he’s trying to figure out how to succinctly explain a concept, despite the limits on their communication. Hermes barely catches it, distracted by how the movement shifts the long spill of Charon’s hair across the bedroll, silvery in the shadows of a moonless night.

He shifts up, moving Hermes down a little, gently taking his hand. Hermes lets it fall open, for Charon to trace a simple question into his palm.

W-H-Y

Hermes squirmed uncomfortably, burrowing deeper into the bedroll; knowing instinctively Charon wasn’t asking about his current proposal. But all the moments that had come previous. Every poke and prod and unnecessary touch that had littered the weeks they spent in each other’s presence. Leading them towards their current situation.

He taps out an anxious beat against Charon’s ribcage, overly aware of the places where their bodies connect. Hermes lets out a long breath, deflating like a balloon, resigning himself to one last moment of truthfulness. “Well, at first, I’ll admit it was to bother you. It’s very annoying, being captured, it only seemed fair to annoy you back.”

“Now…” He trails off, the steady drum of his fingers against Charon’s chest picking up tempo, Charon’s heart beating below in counterpoint, slow and steady. All of Hermes feels tense and buzzing with things unsaid, having used up more emotional honesty on this day than he has in the past couple of years combined. His usually loquacious mind blanked, struggling for words.

Beneath him, Charon stills, face shuttering further, drawing back into impassiveness the longer Hermes leaves that statement without completion.

“I’m not making fun of you,” Hermes blurts out, wanting to say something, anything before Charon withdraws any more. “I mean I definitely was at first. But only in the sense of you being my uptight jailer, sent by my own Uncle to torment me. Not because of, you know-”

Feeling braver than he’s ever been in the half-light, Hermes reaches out, half expecting Charon to stop him.

Charon doesn’t, laying perfectly still as Hermes’ fingers trace lightly across the edge of those scars. Where the last of the lines dip his mouth, carving his face into a frown. The texture of them is softer than he expects, and his hand lingers, resting gently at the corner of Charon’s mouth.

Hermes feels goose flesh running up and down his arms, as if he were the one getting touched.

“If this is what you’re worried about, they’re not so bad.”

He clears his throat, drawing his hand back, despite the itch to keep pressing forward, to cup his hand around Charon’s jaw and test what else he might let him touch. Hermes moves to deflect, trying to bull rush past this terrible tension of his own creation

“At the risk of feeding your considerable ego, I’m willing to admit you’re still quite handsome. Not despite them or some other equally condescending cop-out.” He jokes, trying to shrug as much as one can when laying on their stomach. “You wouldn’t look like you without them.”

Hermes follows it up by giving Charon a gentle tap on his nose, delighting in the way this immediately pulls him out of his odd stillness. Expression back to the usual indignant stare reserved for his antics. “As for why I’m physically here, using you as a pillow: You happen to be incredibly warm. It’s very convenient for my poor circulation.”

Charon lets out something that might be a quiet scoff. Once again seeing past all of Hermes’ bluster; if only for the simple reason that he bothers to listen to all the words that leave his mouth, and compares those contradictions with his actions.

Hermes feels stripped open. Pinned and dissected like a butterfly in a shadowbox. Charon had nestled himself firmly into that yawning void in Hermes’ life. Leaving him close enough to see every ugly crack that marred its jagged edges. Fault lines and pressure points in a carefully constructed personality.

He ducked his head down, hiding his face in the folds of Charon’s shirt, not wanting to be examined any further. “I’m tired,” Hermes mumbled petulantly, casting about for one last excuse he knew Charon would accept. “Have we concluded your spanish inquisition for tonight? I vote yes.”

Charon huffed out something that might be a half-laugh, sounding as tired as Hermes felt all of a sudden, exhaustion pressing down upon him once again. The hand at his shoulder pushes, the way it’s been poised to do this whole time. Shifting Hermes with the rolling movement of Charon’s body. Both of them now lying on their sides, his back to Charon’s front.

He sinks into that easy comfort, feeling seconds away from sleep. Indulging one last time - a lie he always tells himself - in the luxury of touch. Dragging Charon’s arm across his body before he goes under, safely tucked away into his warm embrace.

* * *

Hours later, he’s pulled out of a dream in a slow and hazy slide. The sound and color of whatever his mind had conjured slipping away like grains of sand. He’s almost ready to go back to sleep, except for a needy and insistent discomfort that only grows with time.

It seems that he’d been halfway into a _very_ pleasant dream.

He shifts, trapped; half hard in his pants, floating within that in-between state preceding full wakefulness. Before the arm draped across his torso shifts, tightening. Drawing him further into Charon’s chest. _Fuck_.

That treasonous, inconsiderate part of Hermes only grows harder, throbbing a little for good measure. He bites his lip, suddenly much more awake and absolutely terrified.

Charon shifts behind him again, clearly still asleep; wrapped securely around Hermes. The warm press of his body making the situation considerably more difficult. Hermes chokes with fear, trying to think of the best way to slip out of his grasp without waking him up.

His erection seems completely unaffected by any matter of negative emotion, pressing torturously against his inseam.

He moves in breathless inches. Miraculously managing to slide out from under Charon’s arm without waking him. Scrambling out of the tent as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

Hermes reels, dizzy from sudden movement. Stumbling towards a random direction, gingerly re-arranging himself in his pants as best he can while making his escape. He rushes forward, without thought, until he’s left the campsite far behind; slumping down against a nearby trunk of those giant trees with a heartfelt groan.

He shouldn’t.

He’s only been up and moving for about a minute, which isn’t exactly the same as being awake and in full possession of his faculties. As if to drive home that statement, his hand strays to his lap without thought, running a gentle pass over the tented bulge of fabric there. He swallows a little whine, digging his heels into the softness of the forest floor.

He really shouldn’t.

But it’s been weeks since he last had any kind of release. His semi dormant libido - put on the back burner by long periods of stress, dragged out of its hiding place by Charon’s accidental ministrations - makes itself known once more. All of him feels hot and prickly, nipples brushing up against the fabric of his shirt in an accidental tease.

There exists at that point a moment, when it might not be too late to stop. Hermes’ restless hands squander it beautifully, skittering up and opening the buttons of his shirt. Caving before he can even consider resistance, hoping to get the whole thing over and done with quickly. He thumbs lightly across one nipple, biting his lip when it sends a sharp spark of electric heat down his spine, cock giving a sympathetic twitch, still trapped within his pants.

He pushes them down just enough free his erection from the confines of the fabric. Swirling his thumb around the head, spreading the pre-cum gathered there, hips jolting at the sensation. More sensitive than he remembers, the recent bout of abstinence making every touch feel new.

He tries to be efficient, spitting wetly into his palm before taking himself in hand. A brisk, utilitarian up and down, determined to wring an end out of this as fast as possible. Finding, rather despondently, that he can’t quite make it so. It draws out longer, chasing what feels like an unobtainable peak; trembling, wrist twisting on the upstroke, more noises trapped between his clenched teeth.

He strives to concentrate, as if he can will himself to finish the task at hand through sheer stubbornness alone. Hermes tries to think of what he usually does. The vague suggestion of a person. Faint memories of past lovers. No faces, just sweeping hands; warm, open mouths that pressed kisses into his neck.

His heels scramble for purchase, sliding against loose earth. Breaking a self imposed rule before he can even set it in place. Thinking of one specific mouth.

_Charon._

_Charon, Charon, Charon,_ repeats like a mantra in his head. A jumble of thoughts and feelings. Nothing more than the name, and _Please_.

 _God_ , _Please._ Hermes pleads desperately for release to that fantasy. His hand flying up and down, closing his eyes and pushing back against the rough bark of the tree. Thinking of the press of that body against his, that arm pinning him down. Those hands moving him from one place to another as if he weighed nothing.

It’s not enough. He thumbs the head again, feeling a trapped groan bubble out from his throat. Suddenly, overwhelmingly desperate.

He thinks of Charon, thinks of kneeling between those legs, and indulging the inevitable end of the startling oral fixation he’s been developing during their trip. Hermes shoves his own fingers into his mouth, hard and deep, wanting to choke, chasing the ghost of the real sensation. The weight of a cock on his tongue, down his throat, far enough to cut off air.

It’s that image, of being used - dedicated to Charon’s pleasure, to making his face twist in ecstasy - that pushes him over the edge. Spilling into his cupped palm, biting down on his fingers to muffle his choked whines. He lies there limply, body twitching in the aftershocks. Feeling dangerously relaxed now that he’s finished, close to falling back asleep.

 _Fuck,_ Hermes thinks again, slumped halfway onto the ground; shirt open, pants undone, his own spend cooling in his hand.

The moment his body doesn't feel like a bowl of warm pudding, he gingerly scrapes his palm across the ground. Rubbing that chalky dirt into his hands until they’re dry, if a bit dirty, removing any trace of incriminating fluids. He buttons his shirt, tucks himself back into his pants, and immediately lies back down in a miserable little ball to process what just occurred.

Occurred, as if he had nothing to do with it. As if Charon were an event that happened to people, like a meteorological phenomenon. Unavoidable as the rain.

Though, for Hermes, he might as well have been.

He’s never felt so foolish. A lifetime preying on people’s weaknesses, learning to pluck the strings of sympathy and greed and lust. Only to come to heel himself for the barest scraps of attention. Charon’s gruff consideration clearing the bar of his incredibly low standards with ease.

Hermes’ one, cold contentment being that the man would have never purposefully done something so Machiavellian in the first place. The things Charon had done, he had done in earnestness. And would continue to do, if Hermes let him.

Hermes was coming to suspect that his associate’s horrible personality existed only to obscure the instinctual kindness that simmered just below that surly surface.

And it was kindness.

Hermes didn’t let himself hope for more than kindness.

He carefully put away all the thoughts that replayed in his mind constantly. Pieces of evidence that his affections might not be so unrequited after all. Not wanting to go down further avenues of stupidity by tormenting himself with what-ifs.

He scrubbed at his eyes, taking one more deep, calming breath. Bracing himself before reaching that final conclusion.

Locking away his feelings clearly hadn’t worked. Hermes had tried to force down every scrap of sentiment as soon as it arose. Out of sight but not out of mind, carefully ignored but still very much present. Continuing to do so wouldn’t lead to anything good.

Nothing to it then. He had to confess. Cauterize the metaphorical wound, so to speak. He would lay out all his silly, pathetic, besotted little feelings in the open. They could be rejected, or they could be accepted; but no matter which it was, they would be done. He could make his peace with that, once he had the certainty of Charon’s answer.

The decision seemed so trivial, when laid out like that, but it felt as if a monumental weight had been taken off his shoulders. He would confess today and at the very least, it was bound to be amusing if nothing else.

Mind made up and course set, he took a brief walk around the perimeter to clear his head. Wishing for a run, but not wanting to chance stepping on something particularly sharp or dangerous. Having bolted out of the tent without stopping to get his shoes.

He meandered around, entranced by the trees, the slightly salty air of the nearby ocean. The little bunches of pale, purple flowers that sprouted from the ground every so often. Their long stalks waving in the breeze.

He collected a handful, wanting evidence for the reasonable excuse of taking a nature walk.

Confessing his feelings was one thing. Confessing he had run off into the woods for _that_ felt inconceivably embarrassing.

He was mostly calm by the time he made it back to camp. Enough time having passed that he felt confident in his ability to look Charon in the eye without combusting from shame.

So confident in fact, that he made a bee-line straight to where he sat. Ready to begin his usual morning routine of needling the man until his stony facade cracked, showing real emotion. “Hello Associate,” He chirped, peering over Charon’s shoulder and finding him engaged in caring for his hair again. Detangling knots and snarls with careful fingers. “I took a lovely walk this morning. I’d apologize for leaving without letting you know, but you don’t seem too heartbroken about my absence. Exceedingly proud of the solid foundation of trust we’ve built between us.”

“You knew not to waste a second worrying for my little head, knowing I would find my way back. Can’t leave Hades too disappointed. Who else would bear the brunt of his weird hang ups, if not his kidnapped family members? I wouldn’t dare to deprive him of that. Think of the consequences, he might even have to start learning how to manage his own emotions without taking it out on others.” Charon huffed a little half-laugh at his rambling monologue, that surprisingly pleasant expression back on his face.

Even when raising his injured arm to comb out the different sections of his hair. Thankfully, Aphrodite’s bullet hadn’t gone deep and came out clean. One more scar to add to Charon’s collection.

Still, Hermes knew it would sting; having gone through a similar injury before. He could see the motion strain at the bandages, mild pain that Charon seemed happy to ignore. He watched for a moment longer, something warm and protective bubbling in his chest. Filled with a sudden, burning urge to repay Charon’s kindness at least once.

“Here, put your hands down; stop and let me do that instead. Before you agitate that missing chunk of yours more than you already have.” He smacked Charon’s hands away, finding no resistance as they fell gently back into his lap; Charon looking mildly amused at his indignation. “It’s my turn to do your hair now. I solemnly swear to make you the most eligible bachelorette in this desolate wilderness.”

Hermes dropped his impromptu bouquet on the ground, taking his place behind Charon. Gathering the sections along the back that Charon hadn’t yet reached; running his hands through the ends. Delighting in the contrasts of texture, slightly wiry at the bottom, yet smooth at the top, before the split ends.

Hermes gave a quick second pass at the parts Charon had already finished. Nails scraping lightly against the scalp, in that way he knew felt oh-so soft and pleasantly shivery. Charon bucked under him like a startled horse and Hermes bit his lip, trying not to laugh. Knowing what it felt like to be on the receiving end of such gentle attention, a pleasant and relaxing torture.

He clicked his tongue in false annoyance, glee apparent in his tone. “Stay still, so I can finish faster.” He said, planning to do no such thing at all.

He combed gently through the strands, picking out snarls and tangles until it was completely smooth. Not drawing away when he was done, but continuing to play with Charon’s hair for his own enjoyment. “I’m making you a braid,” He announced, knowing that Charon wouldn’t stop him at all, well trained at giving into Hermes’ every whim.

He gathered the front part, those shorter sections that often fell into Charon’s eyes - constantly brushed away or tucked back into his hat - weaving them into a half braid. For the final touch - when seized by one last, impulsive burst of stupidity - he gathered the little purple flowers he had found earlier. Splitting them into small clusters, all the better to slide into Charon’s hair. The slender stalks tucked into the folds of the braid.

“There, I’ve made good on my promise. You’re guaranteed to be the talk of the town with such a fetching hairstyle.” Hermes grinned gleefully, coming round to face his masterpiece.

Charon’s expression was back to it’s usual half-scowl. The effect of which was completely ruined by his new look. His gaunt features contrasting sharply with the style. The kind of soft, fashionable up-do that would be more at home with someone like Aphrodite.

Hermes bit his lip, overwhelmed with trying not to laugh at his annoyance, and by that fluttering feeling that Charon always managed to start in his chest. “You look nice,” He said at last, not bothering to regulate the syrupy sweetness that coated his voice. Or to hide away the smile that rose to his face when seeing Charon’s expression.

He was pinned under another look with a capital L. Those heavy glances that Charon managed to pack so much meaning into. On this occasion, clearly communicating his disagreement.

Charon let out another deep exhale that could pass as a sigh, but made no move to remove the flowers, or undo the braid.

Hermes’ stupid, senseless heart threatened to beat out of his chest for no good reason. Stuttering as he drank in the sight before him; committing it to memory, tattooing it on the back of his eyelids.

Charon in the half-light of early morning. Charon with his hair pulled back and flowers wound into those silvery strands, pale lilac to match his eyes. Charon letting Hermes move him as he wanted, as if he were the one who held the power between them.

He imperiously stuck his hand out, making a beckoning motion, as if asking for a tip. “Well then, do I get any kind of reward for a job well done?” He held out a smarmy grin alongside the hand, trying to cover with Charisma, even when he knew Charon wouldn’t fall for it.

He earned nothing but another huff, Charon pinning Hermes under his intense stare once again. An ant under a magnifying glass. Until quicker than he expected - but still slow enough to dodge if he truly desired to - Charon’s hand reached out. Cradling his own, drawing it forward, carrying Hermes alongside it.

He stumbled forward, heart in his throat, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. As Charon drew that hand even closer, until the heat of his breath ghosted over Hermes’ knuckles.

Hermes tried to make a sound, any sound, and found himself truly silent for the first time in his life.

Charon’s eyes crinkled with vindictive amusement. The unblemished corner of his mouth tilting into a mean little smile, before dipping down to press a kiss against the back of Hermes’ hand. A perfectly practiced, polite gesture; as if Hermes were some wilting violet of a society girl. Instead of a criminal, an outlier even from the dregs of society.

His heart compacted inside his chest - alongside his lungs, stomach and any other associated viscera - at the brief brush of those lips against his skin. Hermes’ breath stuttered audibly, catching on nothing as Charon drew back, releasing his hand, eyes glittering with his amusement, having finally grasped that two could play at that game.

“Well I’ll leave you to whatever it is you were doing, Boss, bye!” Hermes rushed out, words tangling into one incomprehensible sound. He snatched his hand back as if it were scalded, rushing away to hide in the tent. Trying to concentrate on anything other than the idea of Charon’s mouth. Every second of that kiss.

Hermes _would_ confess.

He would do it soon, a little later today. Preferably before he went into cardiac arrest.

But for the time being, practically ran into the tent, wanting to vanish under the covers of the bedroll in a flustered sulk for a good hour or two.

Until he could look Charon in the eye without his treacherous mind casting back to what it had considered that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presses lips to mic: I would like to dedicate this chapter to the Brain worms coalition and also my wife. Who suggested the idea of Hermes sadly jerking off in the woods. 
> 
> A concept so funny i immediately ditched the rest of my outline to do exactly that lol. 
> 
> Fun fact, there are little purple flowers that can grow in Redwood Nat'l park! They're Dichelostemma Capitatum. And they're really quite cute :0


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've hit the fuck it point. I could write this for a million years and not be happy probably, so I'm unleashing it as it is. this is my telenovela and i get to choose how uselessly dramatic it all is dot png. 
> 
> For everyone who's made it this far. uhh wow?? thanks?? I'm love u <3333
> 
> Pecadillo can functionally end w 9 chapters, so i updated the count to reflect as complete in the event i dont get around to adding the one last, optional bit

Impatience sat at the pit of his stomach like a lead weight, trapped in a head to head battle with nerves over what feeling would reign supreme.

Hermes buried his groan of frustration in the bedroll, pressing his face roughly into the sheets until the world faded away into a stuffy kind of darkness. There he lingered, until he had to come up for air, feeling a little sorry for himself, working up to a decent and well deserved wallow.

Or trying to at the very least, if half of him wasn’t so full of restless energy, desperate to get the whole thing over with in the first place. Trapped in fight or flight once again.

_This is ridiculous._

_You’re ridiculous._

Hermes grimaced, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. Pressing their heels into his sockets to the point of discomfort, a little bite of grounding pain.

It felt like he could have hid in that tent for a full year without ever feeling ready to face Charon. It was so much easier to decide to do something than to actually do it. He’d pushed it off the moment he’d caught sight of the man, and now - lingering on the precipice of the moment of truth - felt the impulse to push it off once again.

That little, miserable voice that sat in the back of Hermes’ mind, next to the box of secret things, stewed in the uncomfortable truth.

He had already admitted to Charon that their unorthodox partnership was the closest thing to a friendship he’d had in years. Admitting the full scope of that to himself felt even harder.

He liked Charon.

Stupidly.

He liked being listened to, even when Charon’s reactions were mostly confusion and frustration. He liked the little touches Charon would occasionally provide, even if he acted like he was bullied into giving them. Which he perhaps had been, just a little bit but - _details_.

Hermes could even -in the privacy of his own mind - admit he liked the idea being taken care of. Those moments when Charon seemed to drop everything else and become stubbornly focused on some aspect of his well being. Each and every one of them had been incredibly poorly timed but - nice.

The moment he confessed all of those things might be changed, or they might be gone, never to return.

He let his arms drop back down, uncovering his eyes; the rest of the world coming back into view. A bright, uncomfortable flash of light after all that darkness.

Because that was it, wasn’t it? The realization that had left him hiding away, even after he had calmed his fluster, prolonging the inevitable.

The confession itself was rhetorical, doomed from the start. A perennial failure to launch. What was he expecting? Even if there was some attraction there, on both their ends; that didn’t have to mean anything, it didn’t, and it wouldn’t. It was a bit pointless to get involved with someone he had only met through circumstance, and would likely never encounter again once this was all over.

Charon stood in direct opposition to everything Hermes had ever known. He captured people like Hermes, for a _living_. Schlepping them across the country and to their respective jail cells, at times even to their doom. The idea of any type of relationship was laughable at best.

That only left the option of a quick hook-up to get it out of his system, but Charon didn’t seem the type. And moreover, Hermes found - he didn’t want to.

Couldn’t entertain the thought, even if he had wanted to.

The miserable, starving little thing within him had basked in the warmth of Charon’s attention, reluctant as it was, and would perpetually want it forever more. It felt criminally stupid, to ask for something that would never sate that thirst, only aggravate it for as long as he remembered the event.

He was really getting tired of making stupid choices.

Resignation settled over him, cold and heavy. Like he had done all those times some situation or another had gone south, Hermes calmly readied himself with grim certainty, the way a man might dress himself for his own funeral. Slipping on his boots and adjusting his ascot with an odd fastidiousness.

He exited the tent. That acceptance crawling at the back of his throat like bile.

The sensation doubled when spotting Charon, a nauseating press that threatened to close off air. He allowed himself to linger, for just one moment while he got his breath back. Drinking in the scene, as of yet uninterrupted; Charon taking care of his horse, as he often did, babying her when he thought Hermes wasn’t looking.

Hermes walked over in a brief trot, shoving his hands in his pockets to stop him from fidgeting. “Hey boss, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Charon turned to face him, hair falling loosely over his face once more, braid undone and flowers removed. The little pang of that realization hit Hermes harder than it had any right to. His eyes flicked to the side, if only for a second, avoiding Charon’s stare while he collected himself. “I promise it’s serious.”

Charon nodded, and gestured for him to come closer with a jerky tilt of his head.

“Oh no, absolutely not.” He scoffed. No amount of nerves would ever be enough to distract him from his hesitance towards Boat, even if their working relationship had improved slightly as of late. He eyed her warily, and she eyed him right back.

Trust Charon to find the one Horse capable of glaring.

Charon seemed to shake his head at both their antics, gesturing for him to come closer once more. Likely expecting Hermes to put up his usual resistance before allowing himself to be coerced into her space, cajoled into giving her a pat or two. Slowly forcing them undo the negative associations they had created between each other.

“I’ll do all the bonding activities you want later, I promise. But I really did need to talk with you.” Hermes insisted listlessly, not feeling up that whole exercise at the time. The way Charon would press him forward, slowly but gently, leading his hand towards the smooth velvet of her nose, fingers wrapped around Hermes’ wrist.

If Charon found anything about his somber mood odd, he gave no indication. Leaving Boat with one last, fond pat before coming to stand before Hermes. Arms crossed, his face in it’s usual, involuntary half-scowl, his stare pinning Hermes in place like a physical weight.

A riot of nerves overtook him before Hermes could even consciously think about it. “So about our plans for this whole Persephone business!” He said, mouth running away from him again, one last excuse slipping out without permission. “Just wanted to confirm that our next step should be seeing if my message reached Athena, which it probably has by now!”

“I can't imagine that she’ll be opposed to solving this some quicker way. You know, since she’s so logical, and factual. Great at thinking, that Athena!” He babbled reflexively, and with mounting horror, unable to stop.

“Not so say my other sisters aren’t great, they’re all fantastic in their own way. Although I suppose you don’t exactly want to hear that about Aphrodite, since it seems you two have some sort of history!” Hermes trailed off into a little patter of nervous laughter. Charon nodded, confusion writ large upon his face but still listening.

Listening attentively, as if he always cared about what Hermes had to say, no matter how foolish he found it.

It was that more than anything which halted his explosive tide of words. That careful attention which had a way of making the rest of the world fall away, his brain slow to a crawl - the focus of Charon’s orbit.

“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I’m sure she’ll agree to help us, since we were able to convince Artemis and Aphrodite a little. And even if she didn’t-” Inside his pockets, Hermes’ clammy fingers beat a restless drum against his thigh.

“I would still help you.” He said, softly and more intently than he had meant to. Charon’s brows rose the slightest bit, as if in pleasant surprise. “We already agreed it would be best to work together. And besides, it’s probably the right thing to do. I doubt Persephone is having much fun, wherever she is.” Hermes scuffed his boot against the dirt. Focusing on the grinding rasp of friction against his heel, the line it carved below him.

Gathering himself one last time, as he lingered before that precipice. “I also had something else to tell you...”

He swallowed reflexively, making the mistake of looking back up, looking at Charon. Leaving him paralyzed and tongue tied for the second time that morning. Charon loomed large before him, stern and implacable, the object of Hermes’ foolish delusions.

Hermes felt something stronger than nerves, itch hot and tight at the back of his throat. He quickly pivoted on his heel, a fast turn that left him facing more of the redwoods that encircled them from every direction. Leaving Charon on his right. “I can’t look at you for this next bit, which is stupid-” He heard himself laugh, an unkind, sharp little hiccup; trying to get his voice back under control. “But just bear with me for a second.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charon shift, but stay standing there, still listening. He focused on the gnarled base of the nearest tree, a fixed point in the distance to concentrate on. “When you asked me why last night; why I sometimes did the things I ended up doing… I think it’s because-” He stumbled inelegantly over the words, trying to force them out one way or another.

“…I like you.” He bit out.

The ugly truth hung in the air for a second, sounding more painfully juvenile than it ever had in the privacy of his own mind. Hermes rushed on, unable to linger in the aftermath of it’s silence.

“Which is a terrible choice! Not that you _personally_ are a terrible choice but you _symbolically_ , as a terrible choice. Being hired to capture me and all.” He babbled, nails digging into his thigh from the lining of his pants pocket.

“Not that I’m expecting anything from this, mind you! That would be stupid, considering what you do and what I do, not to mention everything that’s going on right now. I just needed to say it, to clear the air, especially if we’re to keep traveling together to solve this little issue of ours.”

Hermes was forced into a brief pause, slowly suffocating under the tightness in his throat and the fact he hadn’t inhaled once during his run on speech, uninterrupted as of yet.

More oppressive than any physical sensation, the deadly stillness of Charon lingered on his right.

“You don’t need to say anything, if you’d rather not. It’s fine.” Hermes said, biting the proverbial bullet, daring to look at him once more.

The face staring back at him felt like that of a stranger, perfectly blank. Devoid of expression, other than some mild surprise. Charon stood, arms still crossed, looking at Hermes blankly, with dispassionate interest.

As if he were merely an interesting kind of bug, to be studied and cataloged.

A small and stupid animal, caught in the strange trap of his kindness.

Inside his chest, Hermes’ heart compacted once more. This time in a painful squeeze that left traitorous, frustrated tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He rushed to turn away before they could spill over, in full view of his audience. “Well in any case, thank you for hearing me out.” He choked out, moving away in a jerky rush. Charon had seen him cry too many times already, he wasn’t feeling up to a repeat experience. Hermes stumbled blindly towards the trees, trying to blink away the wetness. Choosing flight once again.

The world turned hazy despite his best efforts.

_Stop it._

Another little hiccup crawled up his throat, as he tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

_Stop it. Stop it, stop it stop it stop it stopitstopitstop-_

Big, fat, stupid tears ran hotly down his face, his breath catching on a sob. Hermes took one shuddering inhale, then another, before making the executive decision that he wasn’t likely to make it that far this time. He slid down the trunk of a nearby tree, a miserable echo of this morning.

Hermes hated crying. He desperately hated crying, and the fact that it was nearly impossible to hold it back when he got overwhelmed for the slightest emotion.

Nothing about this situation merited tears in the least.

He’d misunderstood. He’d mistaken Charon’s patience for something else. Logically it wasn’t worth crying about. But when that last little curl of hope in his chest sputtered and died at that realization, it had come more painfully than he’d ever expected.

He felt small and foolish. So easily swayed by any dregs of semi-positive attention that he had deluded himself into seeing something that wasn’t there. Shame and frustration fed into each other in a loop, an ouroboros of negative emotion, wrapped tightly around his chest.

Hermes was still roughly wiping tears off his face when Charon appeared slowly around the bend of the tree. A tall and tense shadow, that slowly sat next to him; side by side, in a growing chasm of unpleasant silence.

“What,” Hermes asked flatly, his voice stuffy and thick from trying to fruitlessly hold back tears.

He drew his knees up to his chest, hiding his face between them, not wanting to look at Charon any longer. Expecting him to leave, or to stay silent and unmoving, waiting out the emotional fallout with no desire for intervention.

Instead, he jolted at the touch of a hand across his shoulder. The warm press of Charon’s arm draped across his back, thumb rubbing a slow and sweeping line, near the column of his throat.

Hermes buried a whine into the bend of his knee, a wet sob catching in his throat. Pathetic to the last.

“This isn’t helping,” He bit out, shakily, unfolding a little so he could turn to look at Charon. Glare at him. Let him see the collection of liquids that dripped down his face and his nose. The worst kind of ugly crier.

The hand at his shoulder skirted up, skimming across his shoulder blades, brushing against skin to curl gently around Hermes’ jaw. Unperturbed by what it found there. Charon’s face, no longer perfectly blank, mirrored Hermes’s expression. Similar, yet so very different. His own picture of misery.

The dam broke, and Hermes’ resolve crumbled, crying in earnest.

Slowly, the way one might touch a spooked animal, the way one would hold the broken pieces of something fragile; Charon’s arms dragged him closer. Picking him up as if he weighed nothing. Placing him in the space between Charon’s legs.

Those same arms that did not move, but lingered, winding around Hermes’ chest in a perfect and terrible hug. Charon’s weight, warm and heavy behind him. Charon’s hair, falling in a little curtain around them both, as he bent forward, like the boughs of a tree in a storm, curling protectively around Hermes. Waiting until he had calmed again.

Hermes sniffled wetly, taking a shaky breath. “You’re either stupider and more callous than I thought. Or you have the worst sense of timing.”

He felt the puff of laugher from Charon behind him, ghosting hotly along the back of his neck. Hermes suppressed a little shiver at the sensation, not helped by the way Charon’s arms tightened around him, drawing him further into the other’s chest.

Hermes’ head hurt after all that useless crying, and his thoughts felt fuzzy and confused, bogged down with tentative optimism he hardly dared feel. He drowned in the smell of citronella, the press of Charon’s forehead, resting on the back of his neck, face buried into Hermes’ shoulder. Too close to be offering any kind of platonic comfort.

“So you probably agree with me that this is a horrible idea.”

Charon’s hand, curving around Hermes’ rib, flexed gently along the swell of his chest. His own form of silent _‘yes’_.

They breathed in near unison, on the precipice of bad decisions. One last, blissfully stupid choice.

The well worn threads of Hermes’ patience tensed, ready to snap. Holding back for one last question. “Why?” He licked his lips nervously, still wary of misunderstanding. Needing to know the other half of that coin, what had drawn Charon into the space they shared as helplessly as Hermes had been dragged himself.

“I know why I like you, even though it’s not the best idea I’ve ever had.” He laughed a little to himself, a bitter kind of sound. “I like that you listen to me. I like it when you hold me like this.” The hand at his side traced idle circles into his skin through the fabric of his shirt. An autonomic kind of touch. “That - for whatever reason - it seems like you actually give a damn about me.”

The second half of that sentence trailed like a ghost in the silence, unspoken, but still understood. That it had been a long time since anyone - other than perhaps his siblings - cared about what happened to Hermes at all. A glaring weakness, unintentionally exploited.

“What, are you that desperate for my terrible company? Do you also have no other friends?” He guessed, half joking. Not expecting for Charon’s hand to slip into his own, tracing more words into his palm, an answer to both questions.

Y-E-S

The air was punched out of him in a little chuff of sound, less a laugh and more of a wheeze. “Aren’t we a pair?” Hermes mused, sounding more wistful than he meant to. Taking a leap of faith, and twining Charon’s fingers with his own.

That hand pressed alongside his, both of them clumsily yet earnestly folding together. Trapped once again in their own little bubble, away from the rest of the world, away from logical sense. Hermes luxuriated in the touch, if only for a little longer. Appreciating the chance to bask in the calm of Charon’s presence, the knowledge that - if he was an idiot, at least he wasn’t the only idiot present.

With one last steadying breath, Hermes scrubbed the last of the damp off his face with his ascot. Throwing the cloth aside to be dealt with later, before slowly extricating himself from Charon’s grasp, turning to face him. Still kneeling between the narrow vee of his legs.

“It’s really unfair that you’re expecting me to have any sort of self-control after finding out this is reciprocal.” He groused, growing indignant at the way Charon’s face slipped into a wry, lopsided smile. “No don’t laugh! It’s the truth, you’re supposed to be the upstanding citizen between us two. I’m a thief _and_ a con-man, impulse control isn’t exactly in the job description!” He complained, but let Charon twine their hands once more without any resistance.

“I’m not sure why you expect me to-” The rant sputtered and died as Charon drew that hand close again, pressing a light kiss against the back of his fingers.

“To just-“ Hermes stammered, struggling to take an even breath as Charon continued, brushing another kiss along the heel of his palm.

“Charon,” He exhaled, trailing into a whine. Those odd eyes held his, saying what he couldn’t communicate with words, dark and heated as Charon placed one last kiss along the inside of his wrist, pulse fluttering wildly beneath.

Hermes swallowed thickly, every thought leaving his head, every bit of logic evaporating under that stare. The tension grew and swelled between them, reaching its inevitable peak.

Hermes drew nearer, creeping into Charon’s lap, moving by inches. Waiting to see if he would be pushed away. They slid, closer and closer together, until they met in the middle, one, brief kiss.

Hermes pulled away, heart hammering in his throat as if he’d run a mile. Running greedy hands over the curve of Charon’s shoulders, curling around his jaw to press their foreheads together. Trapping them in a warm pocket of air, his lips brushing against Charon’s with every word.

“I’m giving you one last chance to reconsider, before we have to have a very long talk about both of our expectations.” Hermes offered, his hands curling possessively around every bit of Charon than he could reach. In direct opposition to his words.

Charon’s arm, draped around Hermes’ waist, moved him higher, nearer. Fingers winding into the fabric of his shirt, a delicious press of friction that pushed him further into Charon’s lap. One last _‘yes’_.

Hermes stopped holding back, rushing forward with no reservations. He pressed along the seam of Charon’s mouth, the scarred tilt of his lip that Hermes has seen a dozen times and yearned for a dozen more. He pushed forward with force and fury, taking Charon’s breath in the same way he had stolen every other thing his heart desired. Quickly, skillfully, with no hope of recovery.

Charon’s hand pressed along the back of his neck, Charon’s fingers tensed and shaking at the curve of his hip. Their jagged, lonely edges aligned one more time, in perfect unison, in concert with the slick slide of their mouths. The way Hermes takes Charon’s lip into his mouth, drinking in his hiss like the finest of wines. Pressing more kisses along the lines that mar his face, traversing those paths with his teeth and tongue. Stopping at the down-turned corner of his mouth, where the scars are thickest.

Hermes leaves one last kiss there, and then another, and then another; a tribute to their beautiful imperfections.

When he draws back, his thumb lingers, sweeping along the bottom of Charon’s lip. Drinking in his dazed expression, the way his hands fist tightly into Hermes’ shirt, as if unwilling to let him go.

“I think we’ve gone and made this professional business relationship a lot more complicated,” He quipped, delighting in the change in Charon’s expression, back to his usual ornery moods. The slight roll of his eyes in fond exasperation.

Hermes gives into temptation, burying his laugh in another kiss. The heated press of their mouths trading air. “I don’t mind if you don’t” He whispers slyly. Drunk on power, Hermes slips lower, mouthing at the curve of Charon’s neck, relishing the way those fingers spasm around his waist.

They don’t make it to the conversation. They barely make it back to the tent.

But he doesn’t think Charon minds, there’s always tomorrow.

If he’s been forced to make time to fix the consequences of his father’s idiotic decisions, Hermes feels, rather selfishly, that perhaps there’s time and space for this too. One blissfully stupid choice of his own.

* * *

Sacramento is a maze of brick and sunshine, heat that steams from the cobblestone roads, turning the throng of crowds hazy at the end of the street. Their shapes undulate slightly at the edges, baking under the watchful eye of the blazing California summer.

Hermes flies above them, rising with the heat. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop in a joyous glide. There’s a reckless freedom in the movement, his favorite part of being in the city. The well worn path to Athena’s estate looms in the distance. He keeps his eye on that familiar horizon, sliding down the siding and shingles of the bank and kicking off at the last minute, soaring over the gap in the street the tune of a distant scream.

He lands with a roll, wobbling but not stopping, orienting himself with the landmark of his sister’s monolithic home. Turning left, instead of moving forward, the other side of town. A couple rooftops over, a plain and understated hotel, the third floor window, helpfully left open. Hermes scales the drainpipe, hauling himself into the room before the rattle of the protesting metal can draw the attention of the front desk.

He lands less than smoothly, practically slamming into the floor, complimentary kerosene lamp wobbling dangerously on the bedside table from the force of his impact.

From his seat at the desk, Charon spares him an unimpressed glance before turning back to his letter. Not even bothering to offer his assistance. Hermes clicks his tongue reproachfully, pushing himself up on his elbows, still splayed on the carpet. “And they say chivalry’s dead. Don’t kill yourself trying to help me up now.”

Charon’s drawn out sigh is his only answer, by now long-used to Hermes’ antics.

Hermes scrambles up, not bothering to milk the incident for all it’s worth. Still buzzing with excitement for something completely different. He re-arranges his satchel, checking that he hasn’t crumpled it’s precious cargo too badly. The papers sit snugly and safely at the bottom of his bag, not looking too worse for wear. Perfect.

He drops it off in the bed with a gentle toss, same as Charon’s hat, stolen off of his head despite any complaints. For all his grumbling, Charon still sinks back into his embrace, the way Hermes winds his arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “What do I find you industriously laboring over today, boss; letters, reports? Any of those for Persephone? How’s she doing?”

Charon slides a sheaf of paper from his stack of correspondence, quickly snatched by Hermes’ waiting hands. He scans it quickly, pleased to note that she’s doing well, and seems to be enjoying her time exerting her considerable influence over Hades’ exceedingly weak convictions. Hermes hadn’t really spoken much with her before this whole affair, but has developed a new appreciation for her delightfully frank attitude.

It seemed that Hades and Nyx had brought some steel to his cousin’s spine, which she now used to rule over them with a loving, but iron, fist.

The Persephone problem had been solved with refreshingly little fanfare in the end. Once Hermes had taken the singular action it seemed no one had successfully done beforehand - skipping over his father in entirety, and going directly to Athena.

She had seen the whole thing over and done with in less than a month. Hermes’ travels with Charon hadn’t lasted much longer; but in a pleasant surprise, their relationship had. Stolen moments here and there that weathered the test of time, to the surprise of many, and the dramatic disgust of Aphrodite.

Hermes hoped she would come around in the end; well versed at keeping those two separated in the meantime.

Hermes tossed Persephone’s letter back on the desk. “Not that those aren’t absolutely fascinating, but I did just travel quite a long way to see you,” He wheedled, nuzzling into the back of his neck. Charon’s hand reached back, landing a sharp flick to the side of Hermes’ head, but acquiescing in the end, as he always did.

Hermes all but clambers over him as he rises out of the chair, pressing him back against the desk, Charon half sitting on it’s surface to accommodate their differences in height. He trades a long and languid kiss between them, drawing back only when he absolutely needs to, tired of standing when there’s a perfectly good bed nearby.

“I have to give you something, and after that I’d like it if you could come greet me properly,” He whispers into the corner of Charon’s mouth, dancing away from the circle of his arms before he gives into temptation. He rushes over to his satchel, snatching the bundle of papers that sits tidily at the bottom. Primly folded into a neat envelope bearing Athena’s crest, official as official can get.

He shoves them into Charon’s hand, all but wiggling in excitement. “Open it!”

Charon spares him a suspicious glance before he does, calmly taking out the papers in that slow, measured way he does everything. A perfect counterpoint to Hermes’ frenetic pace. He reads them over with painstaking thoroughness, turning towards Hermes with a look of helpless confusion the moment he’s done. Good confusion, Hermes thinks and hopes. The giddy smile on his face sliding into something smaller, warmer.

“She has way too many properties.” Hermes begins, hoping this idea is actually as good as he thought it was. “It wasn’t too difficult to get her to give you one. I only had to whine for less than an hour.”

“It’s not a full ranch, but there’s enough land there to build all the other stuff you would need for a homestead. If you still want one, that is.” Hermes slips closer, flicking at the corner of the paper, tilting into Charon’s space.

He’d gotten it out of him once, in a late night conversation. Charon’s idle thoughts about retirement, a confession of the space he had imagined, once or twice. Scrawled out in the pages of his journal, the idea of a place all his own, away from the increasingly dangerous physical demands of bounty hunting.

Hermes’ mind had raced as fast as his heart, stumbling in his excitement, the knowledge that this was one thing he could definitely give.

Or rather, Athena could, but - _details_.

What was a little extortion between siblings?

She had handed the deed to him happily enough in the end. Parting with a pointed comment about how perhaps this joint venture could signal _both_ their retirements.

Hermes liked the idea of perhaps. “You don’t even need to share it with me.” He joked, curling his fingers along Charon’s wrist, a comforting press. “It’s for you, and you can do with it what you want.”

Charon’s face turned towards him, raw and open, the both of them drawing together like magnets. Charon tossed the papers towards the desk, an untidy heap that would surely come to haunt him later, hauling Hermes close, tilting his head up in a ferocious kiss. He sped up, and Hermes slowed down, meeting in perfect unison in the middle. The kind of conversation that needed no words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TYSM for reading ;;A;;
> 
> I'm so flattered that you gave this story your time. This might functionally be the last real update. So i wanted to say: Goodbye, Be good, Take care <3333
> 
> PS - uhhhh, the last chapter, if anyone might care for it is just, the spicy outtake from before their serious conversation. Idk if any of yall would want to see that? LMK if you're interested i guess?? 
> 
> If you want to see more questionable content I'm also @ twitter as [Prociions](https://twitter.com/prociions) !!


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